


Scars

by and_damntheconsequences



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon Returns (Merlin), Eventual Romance, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minor Violence, Nightmares, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:01:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 24,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24390241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/and_damntheconsequences/pseuds/and_damntheconsequences
Summary: After 1500 years, Arthur comes back, and Merlin is finally able to begin healing all the damage those centuries have done. Secrets fall apart, and for the first time since as long as he can remember, Merlin is both happy and safe.But they both know that Arthur must have come back for a reason.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 154





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be multichaptered but I really have no idea how many chapters it will be. It's also gonna have angst, mentions of torture and death, and some other general fun stuff... but I promise there will be fluff too.  
> This first chapter is also a bit everywhere and jumps between things; I promise it will settle more later.
> 
> Current updates on this fic are slow...

The worst thing about being immortal, Merlin had decided, was that his body hadn't seemed to adjust to the idea that it was going to live forever. Every morning, he woke up feeling the aches of 1500 years in his bones, tugging against his joints and weighing his very organs down. The charms he cast to keep it bearable always wore off during his sleep, and the moments he was without them were the worst.

It never took long to recast them all; he could do it in seconds now. He'd be up in almost no time, with the pain vanished away, and his body made to look it's young and healthier self. But for those first seconds after his eyes opened, he felt the damage of every battle he'd ever fought, every hit he'd ever taken, everything that should have killed him desperate to still take away his peace.

But he supposed, at least, it gave him some routine. No matter what sort of life he was living, and he'd lived a lot over the centuries, his first few moments after waking were always the same. As he thought it, the same series of thoughts he'd had every day for almost as long as he could remember, he started to dress himself for the day ahead.

He'd started part-time work in a museum a few years ago, doing tours, guiding visitors around the exhibits. It wasn't every day, and it didn't pay much, but he didn't need it to. It was something to do, and anyway, history was easier to talk about when you'd seen it with your own eyes. He could give a better account of what life had been like during the last thousand years than anyone, and as long as he didn't bring up magic, he was seen as educated and respected. He'd watched the lives and stories of all kinds of people, and he could tell them now — their stories deserved to be told.

Of couldn't, he couldn't tell the stories that were most important to him. No one believed in sorcery now. The magic of the earth was dying around him. But one day, he told himself, one day, it would be different.

_When Arthur comes back._

~*~

As soon as he woke up, he knew something was off. There was a sort of tingling sensation under his skin, a buzzing spreading around his bones, like something ancient within his body was stirring again. It took him a few minutes to realise that he didn't feel old. When he looked in the mirror, he almost recoiled in shock. He was covered head to toe in scars, in burn marks and blade wounds, just as always, but beneath that, his body was young again. This wasn't his magic, this was no glamour, this was real. He felt it. 1500 years of memories stared at him from his eyes in the mirror. But he wasn't a day over 25.

With a sudden twist of the gut he realised that he hadn't truly felt this young in centuries. Not since Camelot had fallen. Not even since Guinevere had been crowned in Arthur's place. He needed to get to the lake.

~*~

Arthur opened his eyes slowly, letting the sunlight glaring down at him fall into focus. His ears were ringing so much he couldn't hear anything else, bar his heartbeat pounding far too loudly.

Gradually, he tilted his head to look around him. He was laying on grass, a little damp, with a few trees scattered around him. At his side, lay still water, stretching as far as he could see — which, granted, wasn't very far — and what seemed like a tower reaching to the sky from an island a little way out. The water was almost eerily blue, as if something wasn't quite right, but he couldn't think what. He couldn't think much at all, actually, and nor could he remember how he got there.

 _Merlin_.

The name appeared in his mind quite suddenly, and stopped all of his other thoughts still. But he remembered now, how could he have forgotten? The Battle at Camlann had been won. Merlin was a sorcerer. Arthur had been dying.

Only, he wasn't dead now, and as he tentatively reached a hand up to his stomach, he could feel no sign of injury, nor that such a wound had ever existed. Merlin must have saved him; Merlin, his idiot servant, his most trusted friend, who had somehow turned out to be a powerful sorcerer, who had lied to him all these years, but never done him harm. Merlin must have healed him, and then left before Arthur could turn on him. That was the only thing that made sense. Merlin must have run before he could be taken back to Camelot, he must have been afraid.

Arthur could never hurt him. He knew that, but perhaps Merlin didn't... Perhaps he had been to afraid to speak to Arthur when he was well.

They needed to talk. But first Arthur needed to find him, and he couldn't even stand yet. His eyes were far more focused and his ears had stopped ringing, but his muscles were still too stiff and weak to lift him from where he lay. But he had to try. Camelot needed him.

He almost managed to push himself onto his elbows, until he tried to life his head a little too much. He only had a moment to realise his vision had darkened before his consciousness slipped away once more.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin had known that he would have to explain a lot. He hadn't imagined that Arthur wouldn't remember anything at all.

Merlin was cussing under his breath by the time he managed to drag Arthur back to his cottage. The chainmail and armour were somehow still in perfect condition, and just as heavy as they'd always been, and to add to that, Arthur was soaking. But with him knocked out, Merlin had had to do all the work himself. Magic had helped, but he'd had to use a lot of that to keep anyone from seeing them.

Even after 1500 years Arthur still had him working like a horse. Typical.

He hadn't _intended_ to knock Arthur out, at least, not when he'd headed down to the lake — it wasn't exactly how he'd ever expected his King's return to play out. But he'd seen Arthur, finally seen him after fifteen centuries of waiting, and he'd panicked.

There was no way he could explain all that had happened. Arthur must have been conscious of _some_ of it, there was no way his soul wouldn't have known when his wife had passed or his kingdom fallen, but there was no way to know what he knew exactly. And Merlin hadn't felt like explaining it all by the lake, where anyone might see a man lying by the water in full armour and a sword by his side. There'd be no way to justify it to any passerby.

It wasn't the sort of issue he'd thought out when he'd imagined Arthur's great return. But then, he'd hardly expected it to be so sudden. If he hadn't noticed the shift in the ancient magic this morning, if he'd cast his glamours without thinking, he might not have found Arthur today at all.

Once he was inside his cottage, he could use magic a little more freely, and he set Arthur down on his bed. He wasn't ill in any way, not even cold from the water — in fact he was drying unusually quickly — so he'd be awake soon.

Merlin just had to figure out what to do when that happened. And until then, he would just try and make him as comfortable as possible. It was all he could give him for now.

Removing armour and drying someone's clothes was a lot easier with magic, but he couldn't stop his gut twisting when he wondered what Arthur would think of it. He knew what Merlin was, at least, as best as Merlin had back then, but they'd never really talked about it. Death had taken the King before he'd had a chance to pass sentence. Gwen had assured him many times over the years, when he had returned to Camelot, that Arthur could never hate him. She had been the one to continue what he never could — to officially pardon Merlin for everything, and finally repeal the ban on magic that had taken so many lives. She'd also been the one to comfort Merlin while he sobbed, despite her own tears, and promise that he hadn't failed, that he had done all he could, that she understood and forgave everything and that Arthur would too.

Merlin really hoped that somehow, Arthur had found her spirit once she had passed on. Though she had remarried and loved her new family dearly, she would admit in quiet moments that she had wished to say a final goodbye, that she longed for that closure and for Arthur to tell her it was okay to move on. She had been a great Queen for many years; Merlin hoped Arthur knew that.

A sudden coughing distracted Merlin from his thoughts, and he turned to see Arthur starting to sit up, ridding the last of the water from his throat and lungs.

"Arthur!"

"Merlin," he said, and Merlin could have cried to hear his voice again after so long, "Where, where _are_ we?"

He wasn't quite fully alert, that was clear to see, but he was sat up now, his head rested against the wall behind the bed as he stared at the man in front of him.

"This is where I live now," he replied, waving his hand slightly and trying desperately to keep a calm smile upon his face, "It's not much, but it's probably warmer than a lake."

"A lake? Since when could you afford a house?"

Merlin mumbled an answer, but his head was spinning trying to fit the pieces together. Did Arthur not remember the lake? Did he know where he'd been?

Perhaps he needed something to make him more lucid. Yes, that must be it. He'd remember everything with the right tincture.

"Merlin, what..." Arthur began as he was handed a small cup of a warm blue drink, "What happened to your face?"

He knew which one he meant without even thinking. Across Merlin's cheekbone, he had a large scar from a battle against a neighbouring kingdom, back when Camelot still stood strong and powerful. He'd got a little careless and someone had managed to slash his face with the edge of a sword. It wasn't a pleasant memory, but he'd managed at least to keep the rest of his face relatively injury free since.

"Lots of men with swords, probably about the 7th century."

Arthur had drunk the tincture, but looked just as confused as ever.

"What are you _on_ about Merlin?" be said, trying to push himself out of bed, but still not quite strong enough, "No, never mind, we need to get back to Camelot."

Those words felt like a punch in the chest, and the tears came springing forward again. Merlin had thought he'd never hear that name again, at least, not said like that.

"You really don't know, do you?"

"What?"

"You were wounded. At Camlann."

"I know."

"I'm a _sorcerer_."

"I, I know Merlin. You told me. And _when we get back to Camelot_ , we're going to have a _long_ conversation about it..." he said slowly, realising a little too late that the threatening tone might not be helping.

Merlin looked like a caged animal, and that hurt. Sorcerer or not, Merlin was, or at least had been, his closest friend. He wouldn't harm him.

"One which isn't going to involve any executions," he added quickly, "I know you think I'm a prat but I'm not, I'm not that bad."

"You _are_ a prat, and a royal one," Merlin grinned, and it felt so good to be able to say that after so long, "But Arthur, we can't go back to Camelot."

"Nothing bad will happen to you, you have my word Merlin. But I need to see Gwen and-"

"No, Arthur," Merlin cut him off, "That's not... You were wounded. At Camlann. By a blade forged in a dragon's breath. I couldn't heal you."

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, and then promptly shut it again. Something was very wrong.

"You died, Arthur." He was crying a little now. "You died. I, I couldn't save you. The lake of Avalon, I sent you off there. A funeral. But he, he said that when Albion needed you most, you'd come back. And you have but... it's been a long time, Arthur. You've been dead. For a long time."

There was a sickening pause, and Merlin tried to wipe his eyes. He'd known there would be a lot he'd have to explain, but he hadn't imagined that Arthur wouldn't know _anything._

"How long has it been?" he asked, his voice cold and unusually firm.

"I, I really think you should rest, sire. This is a lot to take in, for now, and-"

"Merlin," he said again, and Merlin could cry from how familiar that tone of voice had become over those years, "I _said,_ how long has it been?"

"One thousand, five hundred, and thirteen years," he said softly, "and seven months."

"A thousand..."

Arthur's eyes were glassy, tears not quite able to spill over. There was a moment before it sunk in that Merlin dared to hope he might now remember, that he wouldn't have to go through all the pain that had happened since, but then he saw his words settle in Arthur's heart, and the hope died. The King looked, for the first time, completely and utterly broken, like glass dashed upon cobblestones, like nothing could ever fix him again.

"I'm sorry, Arthur, I'm so sorry...."


	3. 3

Arthur's head was spinning. It wasn't possible. He remembered the battle he had fought as if it were only a few days ago, he remembered travelling with Merlin like it was only a few hours before. It _was_ only a few hours before. There was no way a thousand years had passed. Merlin was lying, he had to be. He was a sorcerer, he'd lied for years, and this... this had to be some new twisted game of his.

But even as he looked around his room, Arthur knew there was some element of truth to what he'd said. This building was unlike anything he'd seen in or around Camelot, magical or otherwise; the bed was made of materials he knew he'd never lain on before. Something about the very air he breathed was so undeniably different, like it came from a completely new world, one he'd never known.

And Merlin was crying a little, his tears spilling over onto his cheeks, and he looked as _broken_ as Arthur felt.

"Gwen..." he muttered out, all he could say as his throat dried up and cut his words off.

"She lived well, Arthur. She was happy."

That wasn't enough. Guinevere had meant more to him than all his castle and his riches, more than his honour and rule had ever been worth to him. It wasn't enough to know that she had lived, he needed to know how she had been.

"What...?"

"Arthur, I really think you should sleep. I can explain everything, I promise I will, everything you'd ever want to ask, but this is a lot..."

"I need to know, Merlin. I need to know what happened to her, to all of them! I'm the king of Camelot and I demand you tell me!"

His own words hurt him a little. If this was all true, he was no king now; there was no Camelot to rule over. Still, Merlin nodded.

"I went back about a week after you left. She grieved, the whole kingdom did. There was a huge funeral procession for you, as well as for all the knights who fell during the battle, and Gwen took the crown the next day. It was a heavy burden for her, but she wore it well. She was a great Queen, Arthur, you would have been proud, I promise. She did what was right. And then... she eventually remarried. She didn't ever truly move on, she missed you for the rest of her life, but she learned to move forward. She had a son too. They said, everyone said, he looked a bit like you, actually... And Gwen, she lived to old age, she outlived L- her second husband-"

"Who? Her second husband, do...did I know him?"

"It was Leon."

Arthur swallowed. There was no purpose in jealousy, and in his heart, he knew that these things were long past. Deep down, he felt as if he had already known this, that this news was just reawakening knowledge he already had. It didn't dull the shock, but somehow, that made the grief much easier to bear.

"He was good to her?"

"Yes. Trust me Arthur, I would have made sure of it."

Merlin exhaled softly when Arthur paused. He hadn't talked about the repeal of the magic ban, nor of the attacks and plots Gwen had suffered because of it, as well as her lack of royal blood. All of that could come at a later time, for now, Arthur just needed to know she had been safe, that she had lived happy.

But at his last comment, Arthur had seemed a little shocked, and now was staring at Merlin as if he'd grown a second head.

" _You, y_ ou're alive?"

Merlin grinned a little at that, but the humour was dead before it surfaced.

"Nothing escapes you, does it, _my lord_?" he grinned, the sarcasm heavy on the title, a reminder of times past, "Turns out all those times the knights tried to protect me was a waste of everyone's time, haven't seemed to need that much over these last centuries, what with nothing working out how to kill me yet..."

_"You're immortal?!"_

Merlin could hear the _"why didn't you tell me?"_ on Arthur's lips before he had chance to even begin to say it.

"I didn't know that either for quite a while. It's not the sort of thing anyone bothered to actually tell _me_ either, between all the cryptic prophecies and creepy visions."

_"Prophecies?"_

"Yeah, there were a few of those. Mostly about me having to rescue your royal ass and-"

Merlin ducked the pillow thrown at his head, and grinned. Familiarity was something both he and Arthur needed, perhaps more than ever, so there was something oddly comforting in having something lobbed at his head. Both of them seemed to loosen up a little bit, and there was the shadow of a smile upon Arthur's face, a ghost of where he had been happy. Perhaps a promise that he could be again, that not everything had been taken from them.

"I promise, I'll tell you everything tomorrow. Everything about Camelot, everything about the knights, the kingdom, the laws, everything. But for now you really should rest, think on it all. Physician's orders."

"You're not a physician Merlin. And it's the middle of the day."

Merlin flicked his wrist and the curtains drew themselves.

"No, but I'm still telling you to that you need rest, to process this, and if you don't I will knock you out myself."

"That's treason, Merlin," Arthur said, and Merlin smiled again.

He was _back_ , Arthur was finally back. The wait was over. Everything would be okay again. No matter what they faced, if Arthur was here, Merlin was convinced he could take on the world. He tried not to remember that Arthur wouldn't be here without good reason, that very soon he may _have_ to take on the world, or some formidable enemy at the very least. All of that could come tomorrow. For now, he just wanted to enjoy the moment.

He walked towards the door to leave, dimming the light of the room as he did to mimic evening.

"Merlin, stay in here."

"Are you sure?"

"Do I sound like I'm not sure? Stay here. I don't want you running off with all your secrets in the middle of the night."

Arthur knew Merlin wasn't going anywhere, that he couldn't stop him even if he did, and Merlin knew he knew, but it was a good enough reason for him.

"There's no other bed."

"Merlin, you are a _sorcerer_."

"And beds are big things!"

Arthur just sighed. "Can you do it or not?"

Merlin mumbled something that sounded somewhat like an insult, and then something that didn't sound English, but a moment later there was a sofa flying through the bedroom door, so Arthur took that as a yes. 


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Merlin talk for a little longer, and something is very wrong but Merlin doesn't know what.
> 
> I promise more significant plot will happen at some point.

Merlin didn't sleep; there was no way he could with his head so full of things to think about. It was still daylight, still time for him to do the things he would normally do, but nothing was normal anymore. Or perhaps it was. Merlin was back by Arthur's side, and that was the most normal thing in the world.

It was almost hard to truly accept, that after so long, the wait was over. Perhaps that was why he waited in the room for all of the time Arthur was asleep — he still needed to see him, to convince himself he hadn't gone mad.

He'd have to call into his work and tell them he wouldn't be coming back. He couldn't afford to leave Arthur now. Hopefully, one day, Arthur could try and become a part of the modern world too. Maybe then he could fit the two sides of his life together again.

In his heart, he knew that could never truly be the case. Even once Arthur had been told everything, this life would never be his, like it had become Merlin's. He knew, though he tried to ignore it, that Arthur was here by Destiny's call alone. Albion was at its time of greatest peril, and he was needed to bring the lands towards greatness once more; when that was done, Merlin didn't know what would happen. All he could be certain of was that he _couldn't_ lose Arthur now, not again, not after fifteen centuries of waiting. No matter what, he wouldn't fail him this time. He couldn't. Whatever the world threw at them, they would be ready for it.

In truth, the idea terrified him. He had watched kingdoms crumble into dust; he had seen wars beyond all imaginings, and injustices of the highest degrees. Death and destruction were old friends, though they never reached him. And through all that time, Arthur never came.

Now, he didn't even know what was wrong. Nothing had felt odd, no magic had warned him. In fact he hadn't felt any magic at all until Arthur had shown up, and that was only because he'd been so long in a magical lake.

Something was coming, it had to be. But there was no way of knowing what...

**

"And then her son took the throne?"

Merlin nodded. They were sat opposite each other on the bed and sofa they'd been on for the last few hours. Arthur had changed from his undershirt into some of Merlin's spare clothes, which he admitted were a lot comfier than what he was used to, and much more so than the chainmail and armour he had been wearing. It was definitely strange, to see his King in clothes from the 21st century, but soon, this would have to become the new normal.

They'd spent the last few hours talking through all that happened once he had returned to Camelot — how Merlin had learnt of Gwaine's death, how he'd helped Gaius heal the last of those injured in battle, how he'd requested an audience with the Queen and placed himself fully at her mercy, confessing all that he had done, and failed to do. Gwen had recently been coronated as the sole monarch of Camelot, the only one left with claim to the throne, and she had pardoned him fully with the power she now had. No one had dared to question her judgement.

She had sat with Merlin for many hours after, deciding new laws on how magic could be used freely in her kingdom. No matter what her loyalty to Uther may have been once, no matter how firmly she had stood at Arthur's side while he defended him, she would not allow a needless massacre to continue while the crown sat upon her head. Especially not when Merlin, her truest and oldest friend, had sacrificed everything to protect them.

It had been a long few years for the kingdom; the grief on all sides was great. Many were angered by the changes, many were finally free to mourn those they had lost in Uther's rage, many were still unsure of their loyalties. Merlin had spoken with the druids, and sought out the last of the creatures of magic, passing the message of safety to them for the first time since they had been forced into hiding. Over time, Camelot had begun to prosper, the alliances Arthur had forged still holding strong.

Arthur had listened in almost disbelief as Merlin had explained it all. Though he'd long since accepted his father's misjudgements, it was still tough to realise just how wrong he had been, and how much Arthur's own views had been filled with lies. With those lies finally dismantled, the kingdom had become a very different place to the one he had known, one which Merlin spoke of as if it was beautiful in ways he couldn't have imagined. And despite his sadness, he was glad for what had come of Camelot, even though he could not have been there to see it.

He was glad that Merlin had been able to find peace there. No matter the lies, his friend deserved that much at least.

When Merlin told him of how his knights had aged, how one by one they had passed on, he felt the grief cold in his heart. His men had been more than subjects; they had been friends, and to lose them was painful. He already knew of Leon's future, how he had become King years after and given Gwen a son, but to hear of their lives and deaths again, now that he understood and truly felt the truth behind it all, was still sore. He tried not to imagine how Merlin had felt, watching them all slip away, all of his power still having no governance over death.

He tried not to see the tears in Merlin's eyes as he recounted their stories. Instead, he changed the conversation to the future, to talk of Gwen's son.

"He ruled well too, Arthur. His reign was... more peaceful than yours, though it wasn't easy. He married and had children of his own, and they ruled after him, right up until Camelot fell."

There was a sense of finality in Merlin's tone, and he realised he didn't want to speak further. He'd only scratched the surface of all that had happened, and they both knew that, but for now, it was enough.

In time, they would talk about the rest. Arthur wanted to know the truths he'd been denied in his lifetime, of what Merlin had done for him, of who Merlin really was. Perhaps even more so, he wanted to know what had happened since Camelot fell, in all the years he had missed.

It was hard to ignore the scars lining Merlin's body, proof of blades and burns littered across his skin; it was harder still to ignore how much the world around them had changed. Since waking, he'd looked around the room he was in a few times and realised that much of what was in it was unrecognisable.

This wasn't a world he knew, but it was the world he found himself in. He would need to understand it.

"Arthur... there's..."

"A lot more. There's a lot more."

Merlin just nodded.

"I can't, I can't tell it all now."

Time was no issue, they both knew that. But from the last few hours, Merlin was exhausted, pained from the emotions he'd hadn't been able to express in over a thousand years.

"I'll get you something to eat."

Arthur almost went to stop him, to tell him that he didn't need to be his servant anymore, not after all he'd done. But he didn't. Somehow admitting out loud how much their relationship had changed seemed to burn his throat, so he just nodded and watched Merlin leave.

He came back a few moments later with two small plates of food, with a few scraps of meat, some fruits, and a drink Arthur didn't recognise. 

"It's tea," he said, gesturing to the cup, "You don't have to look at me like that, I'm not poisoning you."

Arthur shrugged and took a sip, humming an approval as he did. He took the moments he was eating to just look at Merlin without saying anything. He looked as young as the day they'd parted, despite all the scars, and his voice and smile hadn't changed a bit. But there was something timeless about him too, and a look in his eyes that Arthur only saw in flashes and couldn't quite describe. Beneath what he was willing to show, he held memories of deep suffering — he had known more than any man should ever have to cope with.

It made him see red, to know that Merlin had been hurt like that, though he didn't know any of what had caused it. He just wanted to take the pain away from him, to protect him as he hadn't been here to do for so long. But he couldn't. There were some things even a King had no power over.

"I'll show you around the house soon," Merlin promised him, pulling him from his thoughts, "I doubt it's what you're used to, _my lord_ , but castles are surprisingly hard to come by these days."

"Show me some magic."

Merlin stopped suddenly as if Arthur's words had cut him off, and turned to him.

"If its, if its okay I mean."

"Yeah, its okay."

Arthur inclined his head slightly and gestured his hand, as if to give permission for Merlin to do whatever it was he was about to.

He wasn't sure what he'd expected exactly — for Merlin to break something, or set something on fire perhaps. As much as he knew he wasn't in any danger, years of lies still told him that magic was destructive. It could be used for good, in the same way that a sword could defend as easily as slaughter, but just like the weapons Arthur himself was well acquainted with, magic was meant for harm. No matter how broad its abilities, at its core, it was still a means of attack, a means of war, a danger.

He didn't expect Merlin to pause for a moment to think, and then hold out his hands in front of him.

 _"Æleþ,"_ Merlin whispered softly, as his eyes turned a bright gold.

The voice he used didn't seem quite human, as if it was calling on something deep within him that Arthur had never seen before. This was more than when he had pulled the image of a dragon from the fire, or covered their tracks in the woods. This was something of far more thought, far more power. He looked in that moment as if he was the sun itself, burning down its warmth to all the world below him. Arthur couldn't help but stare.

_"Stefn, āstent."_

Like sunlight on a lake, his hands seemed to shimmer slightly, blurring the space around them with a cobweb of lights. As Arthur watched, a small stem started to reach up, splitting off into two leaves, and a small bud waiting to open.

Around the room, greenery started to climb from inside the walls. Stems and vines intertwined, reaching up to the ceiling, and twisting themselves into a web of leaves until the room itself seemed to melt away behind them. Flower buds sprouted, some clustered together more than others, but never too far apart.

Merlin look up to Arthur, the gold in his eyes fading back to blue, grinning with pride as the greenery began to still. 

_"Fulfieldeeþ, blostma bleófág."_

Slowly, all the buds started to burst open, into blooms of every colour Arthur could imagine: the blues of a summer sky, the reds of a Camelot cloak, rich purples, bright golds, rose pinks, and everything in between.

He'd never imagined magic being used like this. His father had taught that it was a great evil, and he'd heard the pleas of many convicted sorcerers trying to explain that it could be good, it could be used righteously. But no one had ever suggested that perhaps it didn't need some purpose that lay in strength, perhaps it could just be.

It didn't need to do great things. This was pure beauty, creating nothing but wonder. Merlin hadn't learned this for any reason other than it made him smile, and he was smiling now, proud, both of what he'd made and the shock on Arthur's face.

_"Nestaþ, inflíest..."_

One by one, the petals of the flowers began to peel from their blooms and fly towards the centre of the room, where they wound themselves into shapes and pictures, creating tapestries that shifted too quickly for Arthur to see.

" _Besmocaþ!"_

The petals stopped in midair, and set themselves alight, burning from one end to the other. Each flame lasted only a few seconds, and left only smoke once it had faded, with a slight smell of wildflowers.

As the vines and stems retreated, and the room returned to looking like nothing had ever happened, Arthur stumbled over his words. He _wanted_ to make a joke of it, to tell Merlin he was being a _girl_ , and flowers, really? But he couldn't bring himself to say it, because he knew it wouldn't be sincere, that in truth he'd found what he'd just seen to be astounding.

Another part of him wanted to remind Merlin of his lies, that Arthur had been denied seeing this for so long, but he knew that was out of the question too. Merlin had promised that everything he'd done had been for Camelot, for _him_. The lies had hurt, but they were necessary. Gwen had forgiven him, the knights had forgiven him.

Arthur had forgiven him too, and he would never go back on that.

In the end, he asked a question.

"Could you always do that?"

"I suppose I always could have done, but it's a complicated enough spell to need words to focus it, which I didn't always know. I couldn't have done it back in Camelot, if that's what you're asking."

"Do some spells not need words?"

"Not for me. I've been doing magic since before I could talk, some things are just easier and don't need the focus."

There wasn't much of an answer he could give to that, he supposed, although the idea of Merlin always having that kind of power still seemed hard to swallow. It was hard to imagine the small and fragile 17 year old Merlin he'd once known doing magic like that, let alone him as a toddler.

"Come on, you should come see the rest of the house."

***

They sat outside on the step by the back door of the house, looking out to Merlin's garden. It was bigger than Arthur had expected, with rows of vegetables and patches of fruit bushes mixed in with arrays of flowers. Honeysuckle climbed over the gate that separated the main garden from the line of birch trees behind them, and behind that was a meadow that Merlin said was his too, but that he'd left mostly untouched.

Every blossom, every leaf, seemed to almost quiver with the magic it held. These weren't like the flowers he had seen inside, conjured from magic but not made to last; these were real, almost too real, too alive, but the care with which magic had grown them seemed to sing in their very beings. This was something deeply connected to Merlin's soul. Everything here felt like him, like he was wrapping every life here in a hug that would never fully let go. Arthur didn't know magic, but he did know Merlin, and here he could be very sure that the two were one and the same.

For a while, they talked, everything from shared memories to favourite colours, but nothing heavy. They didn't talk about fate or destiny, or lies or history. It almost felt wrong to think of those dark ideas here, in a place so calm and bright. For a while, they just felt like themselves again.

Someone told a bad joke, someone made a light insult, they both smiled, then laughed a little. For a while, they were sure it would all be okay.

***

Somewhere in the earth's soul, the ancient magic shifted, as if turning a cog that hadn't been touched in many thousands of years. The sorcery that had been almost purged from the world cried out once more, a broken plea that dug itself into the hearts of all that both was and wasn't. Wind rattled through the trees in the forests and the birds echoed their cries through the skies.

Something was changing; an end was drawing closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my other chapters have been under 1500 words but this one is nearly 3k because Merlin needs 1000 words of playing with flowers and I regret nothing.


	5. 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if anyone reading this is from tumblr but if you wanna read more shitty hcs and ramblings about the show my tumblr is @and-damntheconsequences

By the time nightfall came, Merlin felt sick. He'd been fine when he'd found Arthur that morning, when he'd brought him home, for the few hours that he had slept. He'd been fine while they'd talked, and eaten, through the displays of magic that he'd given.

It was when they were in the garden that he'd felt it. They'd been sat on the doorstep, chatting lightly for the first time, and Merlin had finally begun to let his walls down. In that moment, he'd allowed himself to make a joke, to poke fun at the King as he always had. They'd smiled, and laughed a little, and seeing Arthur grinning at him had felt like the most beautiful thing in the world.

He'd heard the wind scream a warning as it rattled the trees like aching bones, but he hadn't had time to react.

That was when he had felt it, a twisting sensation in his gut, that thrashed and screamed through his body and soul with a wrenching sort of desperation. It wasn't quite like anything he'd felt before, at least that he'd remembered, but he knew it was magic as soon as it first touched him. This was spellwork of the most ancient kind, beyond his power or understanding. To feel it make a pained plea like this — it was a sign of something truly terrible.

Arthur had stopped his sentence and Merlin wondered briefly if he'd felt it too, but he carried on as if it was nothing, and Merlin was left to force a smile as the last of the magic ripped through him.

He'd asked to go inside soon after, hoping that separating himself from the garden, the place he knew to be most full of magic, would quell the fire in his gut. Instead, it only made it worse, turning the sharp pain into an ache that settled into his skin. He'd tried to push it aside as he made them both some food, as they talked for another hour or so until evening came, but by then it was almost unbearable. If he didn't rest soon, he feared he was close to collapse. And he couldn't have Arthur worrying about him now. They were all the other had left.

Eventually, it was late enough that Merlin could suggest they sleep. Just like earlier, Arthur had told him to stay, and Merlin had extended the room a little bit and moved the shelves of tinctures and potions to give them more space, and room for a second bed, because the sofa really wasn't comfortable.

They'd talked a little more — Merlin was trying to explain how electricity worked, and how it wasn't magic, since Arthur had seen the light switches in all the rooms. He'd settled on telling him that, "people worked out how to create small bits of lightning and use them to do things." It wasn't the best explanation, but it was all his tired brain could come up with, and Arthur seemed to vaguely understand. There would be a lot of strange things Merlin would have to explain in the time he was here; maybe he should start trying to relearn some things himself.

The ache in his gut was duller now, which made it far easier to mask the pain. It didn't twist or stab at him, it just tightened his joints and dug itself deeply into his bones. But he could deal with that, he'd felt far, far worse after all, and as he lay down on the bed, it seemed to dissipate slowly and leave him feeling almost free.

Arthur fell asleep quickly, and Merlin was glad of it. No matter how much he didn't want to keep secrets anymore, he refused to show the damage he held. The wounds he wore on his body weren't only skin deep, they were twisted together through his whole body, intertwined into a web of pain and memory that bound him, tied him to everything he wanted to forget, no matter how much he tried to run. Now, with Arthur here, and worry of what was to come slowly tearing him to pieces, he felt vulnerable again. He was afraid, no, he was terrified.

But he wouldn't show it. Arthur needed him. If he wasn't strong, if he couldn't hold himself together, he had no hope of protecting anyone, and he _couldn't_ lose Arthur. Not again. No matter what the price was.

Eventually, sleep took him as well, and the pain left him with nothing but his own memory to show it had ever been there at all.

***

When Arthur woke up, there was a small breakfast laid out for him, of toast and fruit, and the weird drink Merlin had called "tea". But there was no Merlin.

He found him a little later sat in the garden, on a bench in one corner, looking out over the flowers. In his hand, there was an pinkish glow, and as he turned his wrist, the flowers along one fence seemed to sway softly, their petals a little brighter. There was a sort of calm and purity about him, and Arthur wondered again how much about him he'd never know.

He stopped when he noticed Arthur, and beckoned him over.

"I see you _can_ dress yourself now."

Arthur forced a smile.

"I thought you'd left."

He expected Merlin to make some sort of sarcastic remark, to mock him for being worried for him, even though they both knew they cared for each other more than just as a servant and a king. But no such remark came.

"I couldn't leave you."

For a moment, he saw it again: the flash of pain in Merlin's eyes that betrayed the suffering he hadn't yet told. He was reminded that Merlin had changed, no matter how much he might not have wanted him to.

As Merlin stood up, he winced, not quite managing to put the smile back on his face before Arthur saw.

"Are you okay?"

Before, he would have been a little more guarded about asking it, less willing to admit his concern. But now, this was different. He'd let Merlin hurt before, he didn't want to again. He didn't want to put up those walls again, not at the expense of a friend.

"I've been executed three times, _sire_ , I think I can manage a bit of magical sickness."

Merlin's face fell as soon as the words left his mouth, and he looked almost terrified that he'd said it.

"Never mind, ignore that, that was... stupid thing to say... Forget I said anything. I'm fine, Arthur, promise."

In his eyes, there was almost a plea, to not ask again. If he did demand the truth, he knew Merlin would give it to him, but he didn't want that. He didn't want Merlin to tell him things because he demanded them, because he was a loyal idiot who'd do anything Arthur asked. He didn't want his friend to hurt for his sake.

He let it go, but he couldn't forget.

***

When they went back inside they alternated between talking about memories from Camelot, and talking about magic. Just like before, they didn't touch on all that had happened in between, nor the lies Arthur had lived through in Camelot. The King could only hope that those truths would come later, but for today, they would stay buried.

Merlin went through the whole house, pointing out the things he had, which ones were magical and which weren't. Arthur couldn't honestly find much difference, what with lights and TVs and microwaves which Merlin insisted weren't sorcery, but once they'd talked through most of it, he was surprised at how little magic existed within the walls of the house. The garden was practically singing with it, but inside, while Merlin used magic freely, it didn't seem to be a constant in the same way.

"At some point, we could go into the town, if you like...?" Merlin asked him, pulling him from his thoughts, "I think...there's a lot I'll need to tell you first. It's more different than you could imagine, they don't even speak the same language anymore... but we could go sometime, if you wanted, I mean."

"I imagine it's all crawling with sorcerers now, after all this time."

Merlin stopped to stare at him, as if what he'd said was beyond ridiculous.

"There's fewer sorcerers out _there_ than there were in Camelot Castle."

"What?"

"There's no... no, magic's _gone_ , Arthur. Almost all of the magical creatures died out at least 300 years ago, and the rest followed afterwards. No one believes sorcery is even real anymore, they'd lock you up for insanity if you told them I was a warlock."

For a moment, they sat in silence.

"They've forgotten everything?"

"Not quite. They tell stories, but magic is just... pretend to them. It's gone. I've tried everything, I've used magic to check the world over, but now... I'm the last sorcerer left."

"Does anyone... know?"

It made him feel sick, to realise that after all this time, Merlin was _still_ hiding who he was, still living in fear of what might happen if he was discovered, even if the price he'd pay wasn't execution anymore. For all Merlin had sacrificed for Camelot, he didn't have the freedom he so deserved. It had been taken away again. No matter what he'd been taught about magic, he could never hate Merlin, and he knew that perhaps better than ever now. Merlin should never have faced this punishment, not in Camelot, and certainly not here.

"About me? No. But they know my name. You and me are the stuff of legends, Arthur. Mostly wrong legends, but they know our names... Even if they don't believe in them..."

He tried not to think too much on that. Whatever the stories and legends were, he wasn't sure he really wanted to know them. At least not yet.

"I want to see it. The world, I mean. I want to know what it looks like."

"I might be able to show you, later. Find a spell or something, make a vision, I'm not sure. There will be words for a spell like that somewhere."

The way he said it so casually, as if it could certainly be done, and soon, made Arthur wonder again. Gaius had told him that Merlin was a powerful sorcerer, and at the time it had seemed beyond ridiculous. But he couldn't help but be curious.

"Merlin?" he asked, "How powerful _are_ you, exactly?"

Merlin muttered something under his breath.

"That _was_ a question, Merlin. There's not much point in an answer if I can't hear it."

"More than you could imagine, and definitely more than I want to be."

He didn't want to answer more than that, Arthur could tell, but he _needed_ to know. After everything he now knew, all the things he knew he had to credit Merlin with, he needed to know what he really was. This was one secret he didn't want to push away any longer.

"How much could you do, if you wanted? There has to be a limit, right, somewhere."

"I wasn't just born with magic, I was born _of_ magic. I am magic... Not even human enough to die."

He added the last part almost bitterly before he continued, "No one else has ever been immortal. Not really. Not like me. There is a limit; I can't interfere with the deepest magic of the earth itself, I can't stop death, I can't, it seems, avoid my own destiny. But anything else, if I know the right words and can't focus it well enough..."

He seemed embarrassed to admit it, as if telling Arthur that not only was he a sorcerer, but that he was one of almost limitless magic, would make the betrayal worse.

"Why don't you show it, Merlin? You could have the whole world, why hide it?"

"Same reason I did in Camelot."

The answer had been shot back a little too quickly, as though he was offended at the idea that he would even consider such a thing. His face softened before he said more.

"I saved Camelot more times than I can count. I never wanted it to obey me. I saved its ruler, who would have had me burned alive if he'd known I'd done it."

"You saved my father."

It wasn't a question, but Merlin nodded anyway.

"He mattered too much to people, he mattered too much to you for me to let him die. I won't use magic like that. It's no use to me if I use it to take what isn't mine, and Camelot _wasn't,_ and this world isn't either. Magic isn't about strength or vanity, or proving my power. I've got nothing to win by using it like that."

"Merlin?"

"Yeah?"

"You're an idiot, you know that?" he said, smiling slightly, "Don't ever change."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finding keeping their conversations in character so hard because I want them to talk about their emotions in a genuine way but in the show they really don't do that very often. And of course so much will have changed in that time, and now Arthur knows he's probably not sure how to act around Merlin anymore. Plus Merlin's been through a lot and is in pain and doesn't want to show it and I'm just aaaaaahhhh
> 
> Anyway the next chapter will probably have violence and crying :)


	6. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin's past is still haunting him...

_Heat._

_It surrounded him, too close, too encompassing. It was smothering, perhaps more than the smoke, stealing the freshness of the air he breathed and forcing a burning down his throat that felt as though he was swallowing razor blades._

_Around him, flames were creeping higher. They inched closer, leaping up and across the wood like snakes rearing to attack. But he couldn't escape them. When the bite came, he would be forced to suffer the venom of a burning that spread across his skin, ripping his flesh from his bones until nothing was left but ash and echoes of screams._

_The cloth at the bottom corner of his shirt turned black, curling into itself with a warm glow of embers and flame. The fire was closer now, the smoke blurring his vision, reaching so high he could barely see beyond it._

_He found himself hoping that the smoke would reach his lungs before the fire touched his skin, but he knew the hope was pointless. This was a pyre of witchhunters, built of seasoned wood, dried and tempered to create as little smoke as possible. It would be the flame that purged him from this world, not the thickness of the air, and he would endure hours of pain before it did so._   
  
_He would feel every inch of flesh ripped from his bone, he would feel the blood dry up in his veins, he would feel the etching of scars upon his skin as the heat slashed him apart flame by flame, until he was nothing left._

_His tears fell, and burned on his cheeks. For a moment, the friends that he had lost flickered into his mind, the life he had left behind. He couldn't help but hope that this damned pyre would eventually win, that he could finally join them, and though he kept struggling against his restraints, he almost didn't want to anymore._

_As the flame scorched his leg, his muscles gave out, and he was held up only by the wooden stake he was tied to. He reached for his magic, but it did not come, just as he knew it wouldn't, just as it never did. Without it, and without a purpose for it, he was nothing. He was always nothing. He would never be away from this nothingness again._

_All he knew was pain, all he deserved was suffering. It was eternal, endless. He would never be free._

_The flame danced higher across his skin, and it hurt more than he was capable of feeling anymore. He heard the strangled scream ripped from his throat before he felt it._

***

Arthur woke up to the sound of sobbing, a voice that sounded familiar but that he'd never heard quite like this before. It was the middle of the night, the second he'd spent here, in this new world, and the third time he'd slept, and to hear crying now was the most worried he'd felt.

He turned to see Merlin asleep in the bed next to him, and his heart dropped when he saw that it was him he had heard.

Merlin was struggling fitfully, his teeth clenched as if to stop him from screaming out, but not quite able to mute his cries. Tears were streaming down his face, more in rivers than in drops, and he looked in more pain than Arthur had ever seen. It was hard to imagine that this was the boy he'd been smiling and laughing with just hours before, and his gut twisted to realise how fake that could have been.

Since being in this modern world, they'd spoken far less than Arthur had wanted to. They'd talked of the fate of Camelot, briefly, and Merlin had shown him how the things in the house had worked and taught him a little of technology and magic, but with everything he'd said, he was only scratching the surfaces. Arthur felt like he was walking on eggshells around him, unsure of how to behave, or what to say. He didn't feel as if he knew Merlin anymore, but he wanted to, he desperately wanted to. Despite the lies, Merlin was the one person he had always and entirely had absolute trust in. He didn't _care_ that he was a sorcerer, that their friendship had been built on secrets, he knew Merlin had always been loyal to him.

And he refused to lose him, no matter what. But he was starting to feel that the centuries had taken a toll on his friend that he couldn't fix.

"Merlin," he muttered to the boy sleeping next to him, "It's just a nightmare, come on, get up..."

There was a sob, and a small cry of pain that went straight to Arthur's heart, but he didn't wake.

Arthur went to sit on his bed, trying to lightly shake him awake, calling his name several times over. He wasn't good at this, he never had been with Morgana and no one else had ever needed this sort of comfort. In some ways he felt out of his depth just being here, but Merlin didn't have anyone else.

"Merlin!"

He still didn't wake, his eyes firmly closed as he cried out, throwing his hands up. Arthur realised too late that his eyes glowed gold behind his eyelids as Merlin's magic reached out to defend him, and only had time to flinch before he felt a sharp sting across his cheek.

There was a warmth that followed, that dissipated the pain before he really had any chance to feel it, and when he looked down again, Merlin was awake. He'd woken up suddenly, his eyes opening with a start and taking a moment to realise where he was.

"Arthur..."

The tears were still heavy in his voice, and his voice sounded raw and afraid. It was all Arthur could do not to look away, not to pretend that this was still the man he'd once known, the bravest man he ever knew, stronger than any knight, and afraid of nothing.

He was still brave, still strong. But he was frightened, terrified to his core of something or someone, and it broke them both to share that pain.

"Sit up, I'll get you a drink or something..."

"No, no... You're, you're real..."

He almost reached on instinct for some sort of sarcastically insulting response, but he couldn't find one, and he knew he couldn't have said it. Merlin looked as if a single word could shatter him into pieces, and Arthur wasn't willing to take that risk.

Instead, he just helped him sit himself up against the pillows, and sat close beside him, squeezing his arm as if to prove himself.

"Yeah, I'm real."

More tears flooded to Merlin's eyes, and he looked away, as if scared or uncertain. Arthur leaned forward and pulled him gently into his chest. Formalities be damned, Merlin needed him, and he'd have given his kingdom up before leaving him to hurt.

Stiffening first for a moment at the contact, Merlin then seemed to melt against him, balling Arthur's shirt into his fists and just sobbing against the fabric. This was a side of him he'd never seen before, that he'd hoped he never would. It wasn't Merlin, not in any way he'd ever known him. He radiated fear, and loneliness, and a deep aching sorrow that tore him apart. His tears were fast coming and his cries were pained.

Fifteen centuries had broken him.

Arthur couldn't undo them, he couldn't fix the hurt he'd left behind. All he could do was hold his friend close against him, tucking his head under his own, and silently promising that whatever had happened, he'd never let it happen again.

"You came back..." he heard him mutter softly, muffled by his tears and the cloth against his mouth.

"Merlin, you should try and sleep again. It's still early."

"No, no... I don't want to see it again... I don't want to go back, please don't make me go back..."

He was shaking his head, breathing erratically and gasping for air in between the now silent sobs that racked through his body.

"Okay.... okay..."

He'd told Merlin, when he was just hours from death, not to change, to always be _him_. To always be the man he'd grown so close to, to keep being his idiotic, but so loveable, self. He'd been holding hope that maybe Merlin had kept to that, but he knew now he had to give up that faith. Time and struggle had damaged them both. No matter what their friendship was now, it wasn't what it had been, and it never would be again. They couldn't go back.

"Do you... want to talk about it?"

Merlin shook his head. His breathing was calmer now, and his grip not as tight, but he was still firmly pressed against Arthur as though he was the one thing keeping him sane. But as he muttered a quiet, "no" under his breath, he moved away.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."

" _Mer_ lin..."

"I should just, just go to sleep again, it was just a bad dream..."

It wasn't, not really. It was a memory, a plague that had crept into his mind four centuries ago, and never left.

"Merlin, I will never understand you... But I want to. I owe you a great debt, more than I know, and I didn't see it before but I do now. At least let me be here for you..."

"Don't owe me anything..."

Arthur sighed softly.

"Then I'm not doing it because I owe you. You're my friend, I care about you, and I should have said it before, I should have said it so much before... But I didn't. I let you hurt, and I am forever sorry for that."

He'd never been good at admitting how he felt, especially not with those he shouldn't be so close to. It'd become easier with the knights, with Gwen. And it had become perhaps easiest of all with Merlin, but never quite comfortable enough in so many matters. No matter what his heart told him, his brain told him that Merlin was just a servant, that he should be more guarded with his vulnerabilities. In spite of everything, that had only changed on his deathbed, when he thanked Merlin and prayed to the goddess above that his words would convey the deeper meanings behind them too.

"I want to tell you. I don't like secrets. I always wanted to tell you Arthur, you have to believe that..."

"I know."

Because in truth, he did. Learning of Merlin's magic had felt like a great betrayal, but it only took a few days to overcome it. In all his years as Crown Prince, as Regent, and then as King, Merlin's loyalties were something he'd never had to doubt. Sorcery didn't change that. His trust hadn't been broken, not really. Merlin had always had more faith in him than he'd ever felt he deserved. 

"There's a lot to tell. It hurts. I want to forget and I can't... I've done things I regret Arthur... I don't want to lose you."

"If you honestly think there is _anything_ you could tell me now that would make me leave, you really are as stupid as you look."

It was meant lightly, and for a brief moment, Merlin almost smiled. But it was an almost, a not quite.

"You don't have to tell me everything. Just, when you can. I'll listen."

"I'll try..." he muttered, and while the tears had stopped, his words were still heavy and soaked in sadness, "I still can't believe you came back..."

"You should get some sleep."

"You'll stay here...?"

He nodded, and tried to force what felt like a convincing smile.

"Of course."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My boys are sad but I promise I'll make them not sad eventually.
> 
> I mean, this IS a slash fic. It's just....slow burn. A long slow burn. And a lot is gonna happen before and after we get there that you might not like me for :)


	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin starts to share a few secrets, and show Arthur the world beyond his house.

"Lancelot knew."

Arthur almost choked on the water he was drinking to hear the words so suddenly. He was sat at Merlin's little kitchen table, looking out at the garden as Merlin prepared them both some breakfast to eat, his back turned to him as he spoke. They'd woken that morning in each others arms, with a silent understanding not to talk to heavily about what had happened last night, at least not yet.

"Lancelot knew...?" Arthur ventured, though he was fairly sure what Merlin meant.

"About my magic," he said lightly, but his smile dropped a little when he turned and saw the shock in Arthur's eyes, "Sorry I just... you said you wanted to know things..."

"No, no, feel free to tell me why you told one of my best knights you were a sorcerer and not me."

He meant it as a joke; he knew why Merlin had never told him, but he couldn't help but wish he could bite back the words as soon as he said them.

"I didn't actually tell him. He saw, but he promised he'd never tell, he... he was a good man, Arthur, more than you know..."

Merlin almost told him about the shade, but couldn't quite bring himself to relive the memories of Lancelot's life and death. Arthur being back was bringing too many of his emotions to the surface, and he didn't want a repeat of the night before.

"And I'm guessing Gwaine knew as well, then?"

Merlin frowned a little.

"Gwaine... no, why?"

"You two always seemed close."

A grin flashed across Merlin's face, with a cheeky sort of smile that made him seem so young and innocent again. But it faded all too quickly and Arthur could only wish silently for it to come back.

"We were close," he said, "But not because of that."

Arthur had the distinct impression Merlin wasn't telling him something, but the smile it had brought to his face seemed enough for now. He didn't want to dig up memories if Merlin wasn't going to freely give them, not when he seemed happy.

"I was thinking," Merlin ventured again, softer now, "There are still some places we can go that aren't so different. I don't have a horse... or a crossbow, but some parts of the woods are still there, if you'd want to maybe go and get some air."

"Is...anything else... still there...?" Arthur asked back, trying not to let his grief for Camelot strangle his voice.

"Camelot? No... its long gone, Arthur... I'm sorry. So are all the castles and citadels... except a few ruins here and there..."

Arthur nodded; he'd expected as much.

"Yeah, I'd like to go out."

**

Arthur had noticed when he saw them on patrol, how the druids had always seemed to melt into the forests, as if they were just as natural there as the trees and rocks around them. He'd never known whether it was magic that shrouded them, or whether it was simply the oneness and connection their soul had to their surroundings. It would have made sense, either way, for Merlin to be the same, to seem to shift into the trees with ease and calm, at least now that he was comfortable using magic with Arthur around. But it wasn't the same for him. Instead, Arthur noticed something both entirely different from the druids, and somewhat more than them.

Where Merlin walked, the forest seemed to glow brighter for it, as if the woods itself wasn't just a part of him, but existed purely _for_ him. It was as if the souls and lives of the land were giving themselves for his enjoyment. Flowers seemed to stand to attention when he passed, and the twigs and branches under his feet seemed to snap with sounds that were almost too real.

They walked together along the path for a while. It wasn't the same — the trees were different, rocks moved, and in the distance Arthur could still hear the great metal beasts that Merlin had called "cars" when they had seen them on the way here — but he still felt a sense of familiarity. As they got deeper, and the outside sounds faded, it became more comfortable. The aspects of the earth here had changed, but the earth itself carried the same spirit it always had. It was marked with memories he had of travelling through here before, and compared to the rest of the world, the air seemed remarkably unchanged.

It was comforting, to walk through here. More than that, Merlin seemed far more relaxed here, his smile a little more genuine. With the worry last night had brought still twisting in his gut, he almost wished to thank the forest for giving Merlin the calm contentment that he couldn't.

They stopped for a moment as Merlin sat down at the base of one of the tallest trees. As his back rested against the trunk, the air seemed to spark, like a buzz of lightning had passed through the air.

For a while, they talked of all the patrols and quests they'd taken out here, and the warlock told the King of all the times he'd saved their lives. Arthur didn't quite know how to respond — he'd known he owed Merlin a great debt, but he hadn't known how many times over. And it didn't seem to bother Merlin to recount these stories, so Arthur could only assume that the magic he'd saved his life with on these occasions was a fairly regular occurrence.

He was cut from his thoughts when Merlin's hand fell to touch the ground beside him, and a deep hum seemed to sing from the earth through his veins. Arthur could almost feel it, like an ancient song that seemed to reawaken parts of him he'd never realised before.

"How did you do that?"

Merlin seemed surprised at the question.

"You touched the ground and it...." he waved his hand, trying to explain the feeling when words failed him.

"You felt that?"

"What was it?"

"Magic... just, there's a lot here, and I'm connected to it. The druids could always feel it but _you_..."

For not the first time, Arthur didn't feel that Merlin's answers were being especially helpful.

"Should I not have?"

" _No_ , you're not magic!"

He almost felt a little affronted by the tone of Merlin's outburst, at the idea that this was something Arthur _shouldn't_ know. It was beautiful. This magic was of the purest kind, and Arthur wanted to know it, he wanted to feel what Merlin felt. Briefly, he wondered if all magic was as comforting as that had seemed, if Merlin was constantly wrapped in a golden glow that felt like the safety of a hug and the power of an ocean all in one. But he didn't know how to ask, so he didn't, letting the matter drop. 

Neither of them spoke for a while, turning their attention to their surroundings and the memories they had of it.

"Arthur, come here."

His tone sounded like an instruction, but Arthur was sat some several feet away, watching a buzzard circling above the treetops. He didn't much feel like moving.

"Did you just give me an order?"

Merlin shrugged. "I take it you won't want to do this then."

Gently, he pushed himself away from the tree, lowering down so his back was to the ground, his palms firmly pressed into the soil beside him. With a whisper falling from his lips, a bright light seemed to lift from his body, a rainbow web that glowed each colour with an almost blinding strength. Above his legs, it was a deep red, which turned to orange and yellow over his abdomen, green over his chest, and continued up to a purple above his head, and a little way beyond. He didn't look human. He looked like some sort of deity Arthur might have found inked onto the pages of an old storybook that his father would never have let him read, something that shouldn't exist within this realm except in the imaginations of children.

The cobweb of light began to wind itself up like a ball of yarn, until it sat together hovering over his chest, and then seemed to plunge back down towards it. Only it didn't stop at Merlin's body, but buried itself below it, and Arthur could only stare in silence as a golden light seemed to spread across the forest floor, creating a shining circle several metres across, with Merlin at the centre.

"Merlin, what are you doing? What if someone sees?"

"There's no one for over 3 miles."

He said it with perfect certainty, and Arthur didn't bother to ask how he knew.

"What are you _doing_?"

He thought he heard Merlin whisper, "home", but he couldn't be sure if that was just another spell. After a moment, he sat up in the circle, still bathed in rays of sun and something completely otherworldly.

"Come here."

This time, Arthur didn't question it, stepping inside of the circle and letting its pull burn softly at his heart as he sat beside the tree Merlin rested against. He remembered the garden, how he'd felt that the magic there was deeply connected to Merlin, and he realised that that was nothing compared to this.

"What-?" he tried to ask for the third time, but Merlin just grinned.

"You feel it?"

It almost made him angry, that Merlin was blatantly ignoring his questions. This was beyond anything he'd seen, he was worried for his friend, and he was afraid, though he'd never admit either. He just wanted to know what this _was,_ how Merlin had seemingly managed to draw his soul from his body and paint it several metres wide onto the forest floor, without any sort of effort or pain. And now, it was tugging at him, dragging out feelings from him that he hadn't even known existed. Whatever was happening to him, he didn't know of it, he didn't want it, and he wanted to yell at Merlin for not explaining himself.

In truth, it terrified him to think how much power Merlin might have. But he didn't say it, didn't express any of his fear or anger, because Merlin had asked him a question, and he _did_ feel it.

He felt his veins buzzing, itching under his skin like waves pulling back from a shoreline and battering against cliffs. His bones seemed to hum in harmony with a song he couldn't hear, but they could. And it wasn't only himself he could feel, he was suddenly and overwhelmingly aware of every leaf on the trees around him, every feather on the birds flying over his head, every twig under his shoes.

" _What are you doing?_ "

"Are you telling me to stop?"

It still didn't answer the question, but he shook his head softly. He trusted Merlin.

Slowly, he felt the buzzing under his skin rise to the surface, and he started to glow faintly. It wasn't like what had happened to Merlin, but he felt it all the same, a blanket of warmth wrapped around his shoulders.

"You do have magic, Arthur... You must do. From the lake. At first I thought it was just covering you, but that wouldn't do this... Some of it is yours now..."

There was a flash of fear in his heart, before he felt the comfort of before wash over him. It didn't stop him from seeing the concern in Merlin's eyes, but he found he wasn't as worried as he should have been.

"We should head back," Merlin whispered, and the golden glow of the forest floor began to curl back in on itself and draw back towards its source, "At home, I can try and work this out..."

"What did you _do_ to me...?"

Merlin looked panicked for a second, and the friendly confidence he'd held before seemed to die.

"Nothing... nothing to hurt you Arthur. I promise I'd never... I should have asked..."

"Merlin," came the reply, firm despite his own fear, "I know. I trust you."

They shared a soft smile and began to walk back along the path, and Arthur started to feel that the forest was now listening to him too, not just Merlin. It wasn't a feeling he was used to, and it made him a little unnerved. He was used to the trees being a mask for dangers, he wasn't used to being so aware of their existence by themselves. It put him on edge. 

When he heard twigs snap a few metres ahead, he almost instinctively reached for a sword or dagger, before cursing as he realised he was carrying neither.

"Someone's there," he whispered, but Merlin was already ahead of him, listening intently around the path corner.

For a moment, the tension in the air could have been sliced with a butter knife, and then it broke suddenly, and Merlin relaxed. He didn't understand why, until he saw the source of the noise walk towards them, chainmail and armour as shiny as when he'd last seen him.

" _Gwaine?_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't quite what I had planned for this chapter when I wrote it, but things should start to come together into more of a plot soon. 
> 
> Or at least, I think so.


	8. 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, looks like Gwaine's back. This is a really short chapter; more will happen in the next one.

* * *

" _Gwaine_?"

"Merlin!" he replied, almost too cheerful, pulling the younger man in for a hug, "And Arthur, good to see you."

"Gwaine, what- what are you _doing_ here?"

Merlin's voice held all the shock and confusion that Arthur felt, and it was somewhat comforting to know that, for the first time, they were on the same page.

 _Gwaine_ , who'd never had magic nor given a prophecy in his life, was stood beside them, as young as Arthur remembered him, and as solid as he was himself. And neither him, nor Merlin, nor perhaps even Gwaine, seemed to know how.

"We were kinda hoping you could tell us that. Whatever you did back there in the woods, seemed to wake us all up."

" _We?_ " Arthur asked, finally able to speak, " _Us?_ "

Gwaine turned to him, away from Merlin, and grinned slightly.

"A bunch of us all woke up in the cave, a little south of here. Interesting place that, stank to high heaven."

"Who else?" Merlin asked, and for the first time he sounded excited. Arthur couldn't help but feel the same, confused as he still was.

"Leon, Elyan, Percival, Lancelot, and myself. Split up on the path tryna find you both. Figured you might have a few more answers than we did."

Arthur's head was spinning now. They were all here.   
_Were they all young, like Gwaine was?_  
 _Did they know what had happened? What the hell were they doing here?_

Thoughts raced through his head faster than he could process them, but to his own shame, one stuck out a little more than the rest.

 _Lancelot._ He'd been a noble man, Arthur knew that, in all ways but one. But the memory of him was still a sore one, and his death had weighed heavy on Arthur for many years after. He couldn't help but feel that he'd kill him twice, for all he knew that it wasn't truly his fault.

Merlin's voice cut over his thoughts, and he was grateful. Whatever had happened with Lancelot, this was more important; he would try to remember that.

"How did you know...?"

"Ah, there's the thing about being dead. Sorta see everything. Been trying to keep an eye on you, Merlin, can't say it's done you much good."

"It _was_ you! On Samhain, it was!"

"'Course, and the other times. Wouldn't just leave you down here by yourself now, would we?"

Their tone was far too light, almost conversational, and it made Arthur almost angry to see them starting to reach an understanding that he felt so far away from.

"As much as I'm glad to hear your prattle again, Gwaine," he said, and he truly meant it more than his tone would suggest, "I can't say I was expecting it today. Mind filling me in?"

"Not much to tell you, princess. One minute I was, I don't know where I was actually. I was dead I suppose, we all were. Next minute, Merlin's doing some party tricks up there and we're all in a cave. We split up to look for you, seems I found you first."

Arthur tried to remember how he'd felt when he'd first woken up next to the lake, but he couldn't seem to match any of it to this. Gwaine seemed to know things he definitely hadn't; it seemed that wherever they'd been, they'd been aware of what was happening here. For him, it hadn't been like that, he'd assumed it had only been moments since he'd last opened his eyes.

"Do you know?" he asked finally, "How long it's been?"

"Couldn't say exactly," he said, more serious now, "But several hundred years at least. I've seen some of it, not much."

"But I didn't-"

"You weren't dead, Arthur," Merlin interrupts quietly, "The dragon said you were destined to wake up when Albion needed you. The lake kept you asleep. Gwaine... Gwaine _was_ dead..."

"I'm sorry, the _what_ said that?"

For a moment, Merlin looked a little panic stricken, and Arthur resolved to just roll his eyes and ask him later. It was starting to become habit to just accept the strange things that Merlin said with far fewer questions than he really wanted to ask.

"I think we should go find the others," Merlin said instead of replying, and then stopped suddenly and turned to stare at them both, "Wait, if Lancelot's here... Arthur there's something you should know..."

"I forgive him," he said quickly, trying to stop his gaze falling to the ground,"Whatever he did, he was a man of honour as long as I knew him. No matter what he did, his service past earns him that much at least."

"No, Arthur," Gwaine said, "It wasn't Lancelot, wasn't Gwen either, not really."

And as Gwaine explained, something Merlin could only assume he knew because he'd been with Lancelot... wherever that had been, Merlin let his magic feel out the space around him. Slowly, he let it explore the area, calling out to the trees and insects around him, until he found who he was looking for.

Percival, Leon, Elyan, and Lancelot had met up again, all nearby, just a few minutes walk to the east. He could see them in his mind's eye, though only faintly, but he smiled to see that they were joking with each other, a genuine happiness in their eyes.

By the time he looked up again, Arthur was stood in pensive silence, and Gwaine looked almost guilty for what he'd told him.

"They're this way," Merlin said, wishing he couldn't _feel_ how his words cut the tension, "We should, we should bring them back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some scenes in this I really want to write but they can't happen yet and this stuff in the middle feels very odd to write in the mean time, with all that I know is going to happen to them...  
> Also I wasn't going to bring up Lancelot Du Lac, because heaven knows that episode isn't good for me emotionally but I guess it had to be done. I can promise this is genuinely the real knights though.


	9. 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The knights are back, but with nowhere to stay.

Once they'd all met up, the journey back to Merlin's place was a lot more energetic than it had been on the way there. It was easy to fall back into the natural way things had once been between them all, and Arthur supposed that whatever had returned his knights to him had meant it that way. Each one was exactly how Arthur remembered him, and not a day older, despite that Leon and Percival had lived far beyond the years in which he knew them. It was, in some ways, as if nothing had ever changed.

In other ways, everything had changed, and they all knew it.

So far, Arthur had managed to work out that while all the knights _had_ been dead, they had been _somewhere_. There was an afterlife, and while there, they'd kept enough of an eye on the world — or on Merlin — to know far more of the past than Arthur himself could have hoped to learn in the time he'd had, not that Merlin had granted him much information anyway. They spoke briefly of Gwen, of Merlin's mother, of Gaius, and it was comforting to hear that they too were well, wherever they were, and the knights knew this with great certainty.

The only problem was, though they were all very sure of what they knew, any attempts to remember what the afterlife had been like itself were fruitless. It was as if even the concept of it couldn't exist amongst the living.

But for all his concern and curiosity, he tried to push his questions and fears aside. Simply having his friends back in one place was more than he had dared to hope for in a long time. Lancelot and Elyan had been taken cruelly before their time, and he'd known, somehow, even before he set out to Camlann, that he wouldn't be riding home with all his closest men beside him. This was something he'd missed, though he hadn't let himself mourn it nearly as much as he'd wanted to, and it was strange, it was worrying, but it would be okay. At least for now.

They managed to return to Merlin's house without seeing another soul along the pathways and roads, and Arthur almost smiled to think that once, he would have been grateful for such a coincidence. Now, he could be fairly sure that it wasn't just luck smiling upon them.

He noticed how Merlin carried himself with a little more confidence now, and he couldn't help but be glad of it. With no horses, and only Elyan and Gwaine in armour, there seemed far less of a structure between them. For now, he was no king to these men, not really — just a man amongst friends, and there were none greater to be with, he was certain.

Still, their conversations were a little stilted in places. He couldn't help but notice that sometimes when they spoke, they would exchange glances between him and Merlin, and then either continue or quickly change topic depending on what they saw. Though he had been their king, they didn't have the same unquestioning loyalty anymore. They were keeping him away from some topics, not wanting to be the ones to tell him certain things. He tried not to think about what those were.

Merlin had promised to try and tell him everything, but it would be on his own terms and in his own time, and it seemed Arthur's knights were all too aware of, and unwilling to disrespect, that.

**

By the time they got to Merlin's house, Arthur had heard Lancelot's apolology, Leon and Percival's accounts of Camelot in Arthur's absence, which seemed to tell him far more of the court and legislations than Merlin's had, and Gwaine and Elyan's opinions on the English Civil War — though those weren't directed at him; he wasn't aware there had been such a thing. He kept to Leon most, and though he tried not to make things awkward between them by asking too much about Gwen, or how he had helped lead Camelot in Arthur's place, curiousity got the better of him. They hadn't told him of a lot, but at the very least, Camelot hadn't changed beyond recognition immediately after his passing. This at least, he could follow.

Someday, he'd know as much as they did. He'd get the truth from all of them, in time.

As they stepped in through Merlin's front door, Elyan and Gwaine were offered a change of clothes, and they all headed towards the living room, still chatting between themselves. Arthur's head was still spinning from the strangeness of it all as they sat down on the sofas and the carpet, but as the conversation turned to old memories, he pushed it away yet again.

He didn't see Merlin slip away into the kitchen to prepare them all some lunch, nor did he see Lancelot follow him out. He felt a little guilty that he only realised they'd been absent when they returned several minutes later, both carrying several plates of food.

As Merlin's eyes caught the light, he thought he saw a shine of tears across them, and felt his heart sting a little at the memory of the night before. Had he known how to, he might have asked if he was okay, but he didn't, so instead he just prayed that the smile on Merlin's face was as genuine as it looked.

He turned back to his food, and the lighter conversations around him, pushing everything aside for now. All that was worrying him, all that he didn't understand, all that made him more afraid than he as a King had any right to be, he pushed it all down, wondering if perhaps it wasn't too late for the world to fix itself.

"I don't want to break the good mood," Leon said after a mouthful of berries, "But if we're to be sleeping here tonight, will we be able to get a few more blankets? I'm not sure there will be enough... "

"I'm sure a man of Merlin's talents can manage a few blankets," Lancelot replied with a soft smile, and Arthur remembered suddenly what Merlin had said this morning. Lancelot had known; this was nothing new to him. Perhaps someday he'd ask him what it had been like to keep that secret.

"I'm almost offended you don't think I can do better than that," Merlin said, a familiar mocking tone to his voice, but a smile in his eyes that Arthur couldn't quite read.

Eyes flashing gold, he guided all their empty plates into a pile on the table, and then surveyed the group with a calculating gaze. He wasn't quite looking at any of them, more focused on whatever he was trying to work out in his head.

"Follow me."

Before anyone could process what he'd said, he'd turned and headed out towards the garden, leaving them all to tail behind him. He walked along the pathway through the flowers, past the gate wrapped in honeysuckle at the edge, and then past the birch trees in rows beyond.

There was a hedge there, interrupted only by a small wooden gate. Beyond it, was a meadow, which inclined upwards a little before falling into stretches of fields and flowers rolling out as far as the eye could see. There was no care taken of the nature here, and the buzz of magic that had existed among Merlin's garden seemed to fade out. It had been left to grow wild, though Arthur had the distinct impression that might not be true for too much longer.

They hung back at the gate as Merlin stepped forward, surveying the land. His thoughts were so loud Arthur could practically hear the cogs turning in his mind, and yet still he had no idea what he was planning.

"I own a few acres back and on each side," he called back to them, as if somehow that would explain what they were all doing there.

It seemed to be enough for Gwaine at least, who was the first to follow him, tailed by the rest. Merlin kept walking, but his pace slowed, until they caught him up and a hand fell to his shoulder.

"Merlin, what are you trying to do?" Leon asked him quietly, but Merlin only shook his head and stepped forward twice more.

He stood, hands a little in front of him, a few feet ahead of the rest of them, and Arthur felt the pull of magic before he saw his eyes glow.

At the edges of the field, the air seemed to be pulled taut, like strings were stretched out to hold it in place, forming a tight net around them.

He knew it couldn't have been the first time Merlin had performed powerful magic in his presence, but it was the first time he could feel it in this way. All across his skin, he could feel the twists of magic, as though the air around him was being plucked like strings on a lyre.

It was then that he started to think again about what had happened in the forest. He'd been so distracted by the return of his knights that he'd let himself forget, pushing Merlin aside yet again, but he couldn't really blame himself for it.

It was one thing to accept that Merlin had magic, to realise how powerful that was and just how much it changed, and even now he struggled to think of it at times. It was quite another to know magic in himself, to feel how the earth sang and how everything was far more alive than he'd ever noticed before. Had he still been as used to normality as he once had been as king, he would have pushed it aside, excused it whatever way he could justify in his mind.

But normality was started to feel like a distant dream, and he couldn't wait for some time alone just to think it all through. Until then, he tried to focus on what was happening in front of him.

"Come here," Merlin said, beckoning them closer, "Might need to catch me."

No one had time to ask what he meant before he inhaled deeply and starting speaking in the ancient tongues of magic. Around them, the world seemed to hum in reply, and under their feet, the earth started to shake, spitting up patches of dirt and pieces of rock into the air.

It felt as though the movement beneath them should throw them to the ground, but their feet stood firm against it, even as the shaking grew dizzying and Merlin's yelling was lost underneath the roar. The earth itself was fracturing to release thunder from beneath, smoke rushing from the gaps it left behind like it was being pumped from a spring. And though there was neither hear nor struggle for air, soon all they could see was smoke, and the faint glow of the warlock in front of them, as his silhouette glimmered gold against the grey.

As the dust started to settle, they stared in awe at the building now in front of them. It was at least two floors high and made entirely of stone, with turrets that made it look like a castle stripped down to the bare minimum. The door was plain, and the windows far more modern than Arthur would have expected, but it looked as sturdy as any that they'd ever seen, and large enough to house at least five, and it had been pulled from _seemingly nothing at all._

They almost missed Merlin's knees buckling as he collapsed, fortunately falling into Percival before he could hit the ground.

"Merlin!" Lancelot was the first to shout as he turned to help him stand.

"No, no, I'm good, I'm up."

His voice was a little hoarse, but he was able to stand at least. Arthur breathed a sigh of relief when he started to grin at what he'd done, and the shock still on everyone's faces.

"If you can do that," Elyan asked, breaking the shocked silence, "Why aren't you living in a palace? Seems you could have made a whole Camelot by now."

Merlin's cheeks flushed slightly, and he looked to the ground.

"I didn't really know if it would work. Or I was expecting it to knock me out, at least."

"At _least_?"

"We should go see inside. I've no idea how many rooms I've made."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having real trouble with pacing at the moment. I don't want to over describe everything but I also don't want to jump straight ahead to the more interesting scenes just yet.  
> I've got nothing much to do at the moment so I'm trying to keep writing fairly often, but I can't guarantee how long that will last because motivation to do things never does.


	10. 10

Showers, Arthur had decided, were much nicer than baths. Though he missed Camelot with all his heart, he couldn't say he missed the wooden tubs of tepid (at best) water — except when Merlin had prepared it, when it was always just right. He supposed that must have been magic too; he wondered how much of his life had been.

When he stepped out of the shower, there were clothes set out for him on the side, softer than the night clothes he'd always been used to. It felt odd for Merlin to still behave as his servant, but in some ways he was glad for it. Though he wished he could explain to him that he didn't expect it now, not after everything that had happened. But perhaps they both needed a sense of their past.

Sometimes, in the way that Merlin dodged around talking about his history, or in the way he acted as if nothing had happened, it felt like he was trying to forget everything that had happened in between. Arthur could see pain in his eyes beyond what he'd ever seen before, not in any knights returning from battle, nor any victim of massacre. He wanted to know, but he was afraid of it. Last night, Merlin's sobbing had driven a dagger deep into his heart. He had wanted to forget it, he knew Merlin wanted him to as well, but for all that he tried to push it aside, he felt the blade dig deeper, twisting and turning until it made itself at home, a constant sting in Arthur's chest.

That was why Arthur was staying in his room in the cottage tonight, and not with the knights, though he wouldn't admit that. They'd found five bedrooms, two bathrooms, and two showers in the building, as well as a kitchen and a lounge, more than enough space for them should they all have wanted to stay there. But Arthur hadn't, he hadn't wanted to leave Merlin alone again after what he'd seen last night.

So he'd made some comment about heating or beds, or something, he honestly couldn't remember. And once they'd chatted, explored, and eaten, he returned with Merlin to the house, heading to the shower to try and think through all that had happened.

_Merlin has magic._   
_I'm alive._   
_It's been 1500 years._   
_Merlin's alive._   
_Camelot's gone._   
_Gwen's gone._   
_My knights are here._

And then, another thought that he was still pushing away.

_I have magic?_

Nothing made sense. He wasn't sure he wanted it to. So as he dried and dressed himself, he tried to focus only on what he knew, and not the reasons behind it. It was simpler that way.

"Arthur?"

Merlin tapped at the bathroom door as he said it.

"I'm going up to the others to check that all the magic is holding."

Arthur called back an, "okay" and fell back into silence.

When he headed up to the bedroom, that silence was deafening. Without Merlin by his side, the walls themselves seemed to whisper how alone he was. He had no kingdom, no family.

Only friends who he couldn't protect. Not from the past not from the truth, and not from themselves.

It wasn't long before Merlin returned, and Arthur caught the exhaustion in his eyes before he masked it with a smile. He was in pain, but he wore it like it was a part of him, woven deep into his soul in tangles of thread that Arthur wasn't sure he could ever pull apart. But he would give anything to take it away, to have his friend back as he'd known him, with the innocence and love he'd once held so close in his heart that he'd seemed to almost glow with it. Since waking up at the lake, Arthur couldn't remember seeing Merlin smile in a way that truly seemed happy. Even as he thought back through the times they had laughed with each other, there had been no sincerity in his eyes.

If it had been anyone else, Arthur might have been angry that there were still secrets being kept after all this time.

"We should talk," he said, and Merlin just nodded, silently, and moved to make the beds.

"I need to know why I'm back," he tried again, and this time Merlin replied.

"If I knew, I'd tell you."

For a moment, they paused, words both spoken and unspoken hanging in the air. Merlin wasn't going to talk first.

"You lied to me," Arthur said, and in his eyes, he looked just the same as when he had been dying, when he'd said these words before, "I know why. I forgive you, I couldn't, couldn't ever hate you. But it's still hard to think about. Sometimes I wonder if I really knew at all. And then sometimes I look at you and it's like you haven't changed."

"It wasn't _magic_ that changed me. I lied because I had to, but only about the magic, because I didn't know what you'd do. But I was still me, still an idiot who was usually late to work, forgot to polish your armour half the time, and never did as he was told."

He was trying to keep the tone lighter, as he flitted around the room, cleaning the pillowcases and freshening the blankets with less than a thought and a glimmer of gold. But Arthur's heart sank a little at his words — he'd never minded any of Merlin's antics; the good he had done had always far outweighed them. Now, he couldn't help but wonder if Merlin knew that.

"No," he said perhaps a little too firmly. He set his hand on Merlin's arm, and they both stilled, finally looking each other in the eye. "You're the boy who drank poison to save me, who was willing to die for me to save us from that damned unicorn, who went to the stocks _three times in one week_ for lying to the Kings face to keep me out of trouble."

He motioned for Merlin to sit next to him on the bed as he let his arm go, but kept his eyes fixed on his. These words were perhaps some of the overdue he'd ever said; he needed to be sure Merlin took in every word.

"You're the boy who got himself into trouble on the first _day_ of being in Camelot, because you saw an arrogant ass mistreating someone below his rank," he continued, and Merlin smiled weakly, "and who didn't back down just because that arrogant ass happened to be the Prince, even when that Prince tried to kill you. But you didn't hurt me either, even though you could have. You had enough reason to want to... You were the one man I could always trust, who followed me into battle without so much as a suit of armour — and even if you didn't need one, you didn't know that then. And you're my _friend_ , who stayed up all night writing speeches for me even when I was ungrateful, who read my reports when I was too tired to see properly, and who kept me in line and stopped me from becoming _completely_ insufferable. I wouldn't be the king I was without you."

It was far more gratitude than Arthur was used to giving, but he needed to say it. He _needed_ Merlin to know.

"You saved my life," he almost laughed, speaking brightly for just a phrase, "more than I know. And you never asked anything in return. But you did more than that. You made life interesting, you woke me up to what being king really meant, but didn't treat me any different for who I was. You made my life a little more worth getting up for each morning."

Slowly, he took a breath, and reached for Merlin's hand to clasp it gently.

"For all the times I said it, you're not an idiot Merlin, I never thought you were. You were always one of the best men I ever knew. And you were right, you haven't changed. You're still you. And I'm glad I have you."

Merlin seemed to consider his words, let them sink and settle, before he set his jaw and shook his head.

"Maybe I was that person once. I don't think I am anymore."

He pulled his hand out of Arthur's.  
Arthur's heart broke a little more, and Merlin tried and failed to mask his regret.

"Your magic," he started, his voice shaky, "Can you use it?"

"Don't change the subject, Merlin."

"And what is the subject, exactly?"

His voice was bitter now, but in the same way that broken glass is sharp. It was all he had left to defend himself with, already shattered beyond saving.

" _This_. Us. Everything. I've woken up from the dead after 1500 years and I don't know why, my knights have come back, and you... I don't even know what's going on in your head but I'm worried about you and..."

"You shouldn't be worried," he interrupted softly, "I'm not worth that. And I don't know why you're back now. All I know is that you were destined to come back, when Albion needed you most."

Arthur tried to speak, but Merlin continued before he could.

"I waited for you. And then bad things happened and you didn't come. And then worse, and worse still, and I thought maybe you wouldn't...that it was all a lie..."

"I'm here now-"

Merlin cut him off with a nod.

"Something happened, yesterday, when I was in the garden. Old magic, I felt it... it was like it was screaming out for something, like it was hurt. But I don't know what it meant."

He shook his head and turned away.

"I won't let it hurt you, I promise. I won't fail this time..."

Instead of speaking, Arthur just pulled him into a hug. He didn't have the words to explain to Merlin that he had never failed, that it wouldn't matter even if he had, that he mattered more to him than anyone else.

"If you knew what I'd done..." Merlin muttered, trying weakly to pull away before he gave in and rested his head on Arthur's chest, forcing himself to hold back tears.

"I said I'd never leave you, Merlin. I meant it. You don't have to tell me all of it, not now, not until you're ready. But I won't ever hate you. Don't bottle it up forever, Merlin, promise me."

There was nothing that could have prepared him for this, nothing in their past that was at all like the way that acted around each other now, but that didn't mean he wouldn't try his best. Whether he had realised it then or not, Merlin had always been there for him when he had needed him. Now, it was down to him to repay that debt.

"It was me that let the dragon out."

He almost didn't hear him, he was so quiet, but he loosened his grip a little to let him speak.

"I'm the reason Morgana turned against you..."

Arthur hummed to show he'd heard, that he was listening, but didn't ask any further.

"I was the old man that killed your father, but I didn't mean to, I swear..."

"Whatever you did, Merlin, you did for Camelot, for me. I know that now."

It was an echo of words he'd said before, words he hoped Merlin hadn't forgotten.

Whether he had or hadn't, Arthur didn't know, but they seemed to be enough to bring the tears back to his eyes as Merlin started to speak again. Starting with the first day he'd been Camelot, he went through all the things he remembered from there, all the times he'd saved Arthur's life. All the mistakes he'd made and the people he'd let die, and all those he'd killed in Arthur's name.

He didn't explain much, but for now that didn't matter. This was enough to lift a weight from his chest he'd carried for over a thousand years. And Arthur listened in silence, only murmuring that he forgave him, that he couldn't hate him, that he trusted him.

When nightfall came, he had more unasked questions than he could have asked in a night, and an ache in his heart from the memories he had brought forward. But most importantly, he had Merlin curled up against him, tears wiped from his cheeks and a peaceful smile on his face even as he slept.

They'd talk more, they'd share more, in time, but this was enough for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're talking about things but still ignoring all the important questions... I promise they'll get back to those soon.


	11. 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sort of a filler chapter before the plot gets a little heavier next chapter and things start to happen.

Merlin woke up to an arm still wrapped around him, and Arthur holding him close, and before he let the memories of the evening before come flooding back, he took a moment just to breathe in. After all this time, the wait was over. He wouldn't have to hurt anymore, he wouldn't have to be alone. 

Whatever came now, whatever destiny threw at him, he could face it, because he had a reason to fight again. Between them all, they would find the danger, and do what needed to be done, and then, finally, he would be free. It was something he hadn't dared to hope for in a long time. 

Part of him didn't want to leave Arthur, was far too content curled up beside him. Last night had been hard, and he knew there was a lot to answer still, but it had opened the door. It had pulled the arrow from the wound, and though the blood spilled out, now he could begin to bandage it up, to heal after fifteen centuries of waiting. And now he knew that, he wanted to hold that knowledge close, a reminder that he was forgiven, that he would be okay again. 

It didn't help that Arthur was incredibly warm. 

Still, he had to see the knights. He had to know what they knew, find out what it was they could do. For all he wanted to live in this moment, he couldn't risk the threats they faced remaining unknown to him for too much longer. The war was not yet won, but he was no longer fighting alone. 

Quietly, he slipped out of the bed and away. It was light enough for the knights to be up, he thought, but with any luck, Arthur would stay asleep for a little while longer. 

**

As soon as he passed the birch trees, he saw the building he'd made standing tall against the morning sun. Outside the front door, he saw someone sat, looking up at the birds circling in the sky, and as he came closer, they smiled to see each other. 

"Morning, Gwaine," he smiled as he sat beside him, "Sleep well?" 

"Thanks to you," he grinned back, and for a moment, they sat in the warm silence around them, glad to have each other back. 

"Merlin," Gwaine said eventually, resting an arm on his shoulder, "You don't have to pretend, not around me."

With those words, Merlin slumped against the stone of the wall behind him, letting the smile fall from his face, but a more genuine contentment seems to replace it in his eyes. 

"How much did you see?" he asked, his voice softer, "All these years... did you know about all of it?" 

Gwaine shook his head. 

"I remember... there was a choice... Where we were, it was lovely, heaven. I don't remember much of what it was like, but I know that. And we could have moved on, to... whatever came next. But we didn't wanna leave you on your own."

"You waited...?" 

"Not like you did. I don't remember much of it. I just... knew what had happened even if I didn't see. And sometimes I could wander through."

"On Samhain..."

"Yeah... I only passed through. I don't know quite what happened. You saw me. I was as surprised as you, but I couldn't stay. Death's a complicated business, really... " 

"Thank you."

It was said so softly it was almost a whisper, but Gwaine heard, and turned a little to pull Merlin into a hug — the first they'd shared in over a thousand years. Merlin couldn't help but think back over those years, all the times he'd needed a friend, when he'd wished his magic could bring them to him, save him from the pain of loneliness. It hadn't, but there had been times, like a Samhain night several years ago, when he had almost felt them come close. 

"I told Arthur last night..." 

Gwaine pulled him a little closer, but didn't say anything. The words would come in their own time. They had time now to wait and waste. 

"Not much just... Camelot. The things there, the dragon, my father... Freya..." 

"They told me... I'm sorry Merlin..."

They broke the hug, and Merlin wiped his eyes and nodded to replace the words he couldn't say just yet. Around them, the sun was climbing higher into the sky, and the clouds parting to let it shine through. For an autumn day, it was warmer than most. Somehow, that gave Merlin as much hope as having his friends beside him. 

"Will you tell him the rest?" Gwaine asked eventually, his gaze hovering over the scar on Merlin's face. 

"Eventually. But there's... I don't want to risk losing him again. Somethings wrong, it has to be."

Confusion seemed to spread across Gwaine's expression, and Merlin sighed. 

"He's not dead. He never died, he was just... out of the way, kept asleep. He was destined to rise at Albion's time of need. When his kingdom needed him most, he'd rise again. And all the times terrible things happened, I thought he'd come, and he never did. If this is worse... "

"I suppose that's why we're all here too then...?" 

A nod was all the answer he gave. 

"I had a dream last night," Gwaine muttered, "Wasn't a very fun one. There was a tower, like the one on the lake. It glowed gold, and then turned dark, like someone put a fire out..."

He tried to ignore how Merlin flinched a little at the mention of fire. 

"And then everything went dark, and foggy, like it was all just smoke."

"Magic's dying."

The weight of his words settled in his chest. It felt as though the world held its breath for a moment, like the knowledge of something so great could hold back the winds from the skies. 

"It's been dying for a while," Merlin explained, trying to ease the slight shock in Gwaine's eyes, "Since Camelot, it's been vanishing. And then when the last dragon died and the burning began again... there are no sorcerers left now. Its just a matter of time. I tried to save it for a while, but it's more than I can do. I started hoping that maybe when it died it'd take me with it."

He cut himself off, wondering if maybe that was too much to say to someone who he'd cared about so much, and who he knew cared for him. 

"What if," Gwaine said softly, "Arthur hasn't gone some great destiny now. But the magic couldn't keep him any more."

As he said it, Merlin felt a glimmer of hope in his heart, that maybe this was the freedom he'd been craving for so long, but the hope was shattered as soon as it rose. He knew, from the pain magic had caused him two days ago, and what Arthur had become, that this was no accident. The knights wouldn't have returned if it was. 

But at the mention of destiny, his mind had repeated words he hadn't heard in over a thousand years, words that perhaps, could make some sense of what it was they were meant to do. 

It was barely a moment after Gwaine had spoken that Merlin was running back towards the house. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter feels a little useless, but I had to have something here to trigger Merlin's realisations...


	12. 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter sucked so have another one.

The sky darkened, the once bright sunshine cooling under the cover of the rain clouds that invaded the blue. Merlin barely noticed it, his shoes thudding against the grass as he ran towards the house, towards Arthur, towards the destiny that twisted the fear in his gut. The pieces were coming together, slotting into place, and he wished he could hold them off for a moment longer, but he didn't dare. If he was right, he had to know.

"Arthur!" he almost yelled as he ran into the bedroom, seeing Arthur already dressed, and looking out the window.

"Merlin?"

"Give me your hand."

"Why?"

"Don't have time. I need you to do magic."

Arthur flinched away from him, and Merlin let his gaze fall. Though Arthur had promised him his forgiveness and his trust, he knew he was pushing the boundaries by being so upfront about it all. In time, he promised himself silently, all that split them apart would be laid bare, but he couldn't do that just yet. For now, he had to focus on what his sole goal had once been, what his destiny was still, even after all this time.

He would keep Arthur alive.

"Merlin." The king said his name with a desperate attempt to keep his voice level, with the confidence he'd once kept in his own power, but he couldn't quite hide his worry. "I don't know how, and I don't know why. You can't just _order_ me around."

"Look at the shelf."

Merlin gestured to the shelf across the room from the beds, full of an array of labelled bottles, tinctures and salves brewed and crafted of many years of practise. It was a tribute to what he once may have been — a physician's apprentice, nothing more.

"Arthur, I need you to try and move the bottle. You're full of magic, it shouldn't be hard. Just focus on it. Very hard. And say the words I say."

Leaving no room for discussion, Merlin turned back to the shelf before Arthur could reply. Until he was satisfied, he couldn't let Arthur ignore him. He'd take his anger later, if there was any, but for now, there wasn't time.

" _Ampella bregdan_ ," he muttered, enunciating each sound with more care than he'd normally take.

A bottle lifted itself from among the others, and sailed over to rest itself in the palm of his hand. It was a small display of magic, one that he was sure Arthur would be capable with, with the power he could feel radiating from him. Still, when he looked to him, he saw slight shock in his eyes, an instinctive response after years of learning nothing but fear.

"Try it, Arthur."

" _Merlin_ , I can't do that. I'm _not_ a sorcerer."

It was loosely held denial at best.

"Say the words and we'll see."

Arthur opened his mouth, but he was cut off before he could speak.

"I'm done with secrets, Arthur. I'll explain this another time. But right now, I need to know this."

There was a sigh, and a slight eyeroll, but beneath it, they both knew it was Arthur's fear that was holding him back. It was one thing to see sorcery, and quite another to trust it, but both were worlds apart from holding it so close as Merlin was asking of him. When he'd only ever seen it with hatred, it felt like a betrayal of everything he was.

But Merlin was here. He had magic, and yet Arthur would swear there was not an evil bone in his body.

He held out his hand, closing his eyes for a moment to brace himself.

"Ampella bregdan," he muttered.

As he said it, Merlin briefly remembered sitting in his room with a dog statue long ago, muttering the same words over and over until the evening turned to night, and dawn stole the darkness away again. Pronunciation he had learned, was more key to spellwork than he ever would have known as a child, especially to any sorcerer of lesser power than his own. It had taken hours of repetition, even for him, to bring the spell to reality, and yet still, that was a far shorter time than most could have dreamt of achieving such a feat in. To hear how unnaturally the words fell from Arthur's lips, how the sounds came out twisted and far too blunt, he would have sworn that nothing would have come of it. There was a moment as the spell was said when he was sure, and almost breathed a sigh of relief that, perhaps, this magic would not be as he had dreaded.

But instead, he saw Arthur's eyes warm to the bright gold glow he was used to seeing in his own, and he felt the quiver of magic in the air around them. It tensed and pulled, as though uncertain, but it was undeniably there. There was a slight pause, just enough for Merlin to realise the danger, before all hell broke loose.

The shelf splintered into three pieces, clattering to the floor and dragging the nails from the wall down with it as potions shattered into pieces on the floor. Some bottles seemed to hover momentarily, sitting on the pulse of the magic sent their way, before they hurled themselves towards Arthur, only just giving Merlin enough time to shield him. Glass splinters scattered across the floor, and as more seemed to fly around them, the window smashed, and the last of the wood on the shelf hit the floor with a resounding thud.

In less than a minute, the room had fallen into chaos, and Arthur, for all his experience at hiding his feelings, looked terrified. As Merlin grabbed his arm, he almost seemed ready to attack him, like a horse that had been spooked and was ready to bolt at any sign of danger.

But Merlin held his arm anyway, still calming his own breathing as he tried not to panic, before he dragged him towards the door.

"We're going to the lake."

"What!? _Mer_ lin what the hell did you just do to me?"

"Nothing! But if you don't come with me right now I'm not guaranteeing it will stay like that!"

"You can't-" Arthur tried to interrupt, pulling away from him, before Merlin gripped his shoulder and turned to face him, speaking with a voice much lower and conveying something far darker than Arthur wanted to think about.

"If I'm right about this, I'll tell you everything. But I want to believe I'm wrong and I have to be sure. Now come with me. We're getting your sword back."

**

The lake's waters were deep, and as still as the sleep which they had kept for so long, but the life within them seemed to radiate into the air around. Merlin had tried many times over his years of waiting to call the life forward from it, using spells from the most ancient and complex kinds, to the strongest he could create from his own power. None had worked, but perhaps now, Arthur could do what he couldn't. The sword was meant for Arthur after all; he just hoped that it could either confirm or deny his fears.

"You couldn't have explained any of this while we've been walking," Arthur muttered exasperatedly.

"Not yet. Put your hand in the water."

"I'm going to have to ask you to stop ordering me around Merlin, it's really not fitting of either of us."

He was trying to delay Merlin, whether out of fear or a hope of answers, Merlin didn't know.

"Sit by the water and dip your hand in, _please_. And whatever I do, don't break my concentration."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but did as he was told, and Merlin lay on his front next to him, letting both of his arms lie in the water as he looked down into it.

" _Wit benaþ se_ _gúðsweord, belimpeþ Arthur Pendragon,"_ he began, focusing on the swirling of the ripples, how they seemed to rush towards Arthur's hands as if they had thoughts and plans of their own.

_"Wit benaþ se byrnsweord, gebarn in draca fnæst."_

The sun appeared from behind the clouds, and the lake seemed to shiver with the echo of his words, as if everything was moving to obey him, though Arthur didn't know what the command was for them to obey. But as Merlin watched the water, he spoke again in the English Arthur did understand.

"Freya... I don't know if you're still there, or if you've found peace someplace else at last. But if you are here, if the lake still keeps the sword, please..."

As he whispered, the ripples grew, the water hitting Arthur's hand with a new force he hadn't expected, and for a moment he was tempted to pull away. But Merlin turned his attention ahead of him, and they both watched as a glint of gold appeared on the water, a flame coloured light pulling up. As the clouds darkened the day again, the light dimmed, revealing the sword Arthur had once held, its point tipped to the water as if awaiting the order to kill.

Instinctively, he reached for it, and it fell to the lake again, but resting above the surface, floating despite its weight. Ripples rose again, pushing it towards them, and Arthur felt its power in a way he could never quite reach before. He was drawn to it, and it to him, and as it touched its pommel to the bank of the lake, he couldn't hear Merlin's warning. He curled his fingers around the hilt, and lifted it from the water, breaking the tension of the ripples and the spell in one.

The pain erupting in his chest was unlike any he'd ever felt before.


	13. 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened with the sword....

As a former prince, a king, and a knight, Arthur had known many forms of pain. He had been dressed in bruises and scars and had learned to wear their burdens as naturally as his armour. For all his time as a royal and as a warrior, he had known poisons, punches, and blades, and was well acquainted with all three.

Nothing compared to this. This pain felt like it stemmed from under his skin, as if his body was both the victim and the attacker, and he couldn't pull the two pieces apart. It was worst in his chest, level with his heart, but it spread to his head and stomach, with a sharp, smarting sting of a knife backed by a dull ache of a steady blow, and yet it somehow went deeper than both. It was something he'd never felt before.

Beside him, he could faintly hear Merlin yelling, but the ringing in his ears turned his words to a blur. No matter what he did, he couldn't reach him. Everything outside of him was too far for him to understand anymore.

It was only when a bright light began to surround him that his vision fell back into focus, and he barely had time to register the golden eyes he was finally starting to truly recognise as Merlin, before he felt the pain start to change. As the light around him warmed, he felt the pain rise to the surface of his skin, like stitching being pulled undone by a needle, untying itself from where it had been. It seemed to keep rising, the wound working the foreign body to the surface and out from where it could touch him.

Just as the pain began to truly subside, he felt the hilt of the sword fall from his clasp. The blade fell to the ground with a thud.

The ringing in his ears stopped immediately as the warm light wrapped him up closer. Working it's way through his body, the magic pulsed where his pain had vanished from. Everything that had been torn healed almost in an instant, the deepest of injuries stitched and faded in seconds, leaving no trace that they had ever been at all.

No trace on _him_ , he realised bitterly as he looked beside him. Merlin was out cold, the gold only now fading from behind his eyelids.

For a moment, he panicked, but as soon as he felt a pulse under his fingers, he relaxed, remembering that Merlin had survived much more and far worse than this. He wished he hadn't been made to, but he was almost glad of it here and now. It gave him the promise of knowing he hadn't damaged his closest friend more than he could take. As he hauled him onto his shoulders to carry him home, that was all he had to hold on to. It was the best hope he was given as he began his return, kicking the sword behind a rock as he passed.

He was more afraid of losing Merlin than he could ever admit, even to himself, even for all they could admit their caring now. It frightened him that having Merlin taken from him might well be his worst fear.

**

"Hey, Merlin, can you hear us?"

In his dizziness, he only just recognised the voice as Lancelot's, and didn't feel the hand on his shoulder gently shaking him awake. But Lancelot was dead, so this was just another dream. He wasn't sure he wanted to wake up.

"C'mon Merlin, don't leave us all waiting now," added another voice, and this time it was clearer. Gwaine.

He felt an arm around him lifting him to sit up, and his vision started to fall into focus as he saw his two friends beside him.

They were here, they were real. It would all be okay.

"Arthur-" he whispered softly.

"Is perfectly fine, thanks to you," Lancelot interrupted, "The others are with him. Now I don't know what you thought you were doing this morning but you scared the life out of all of us running off and managing to knock yourself out like that."

"I didn't mean..."

"Eat something first. We've got time to talk."

With that, Gwaine pushed a plate of toast onto his lap, muttering that he and Arthur had managed to work out how to use a toaster, and seeming very proud about it. Merlin took it quietly, remembering that he'd left before anyone had eaten this morning in his panic, and hoping that they wouldn't mind, wouldn't be angry at him. Outside his bedroom window, he could see that the sun was high in the sky now, several hours on from where it had been at the lake.

"What happened?"

"You passed out, mate," Gwaine said, nicking a slice of toast from the plate, and sitting next to him on the bed, "After Arthur picked up the sword.".

The _sword_ , it had hurt him. He'd been right, and as the dread settled in his gut, he'd never been less glad of it.

"I need to speak to Arthur."

He tried to get up, but four hands gently pushed him down again, holding him closer to them.

"You can't keep going like this, Merlin," Lancelot said softly, "I know you care about Arthur, but if you don't care for yourself too, it'll break you..."

Perhaps it was a wasted warning to one already so broken.

"What, like you did?" Merlin said finally, bitterness creeping into his tone.

"What?"

"I should care for myself. Like you did?"

Neither seemed to have a reply.

"You throwing yourself through the veil. I could have done something, I could have found some other way, and you didn't even let me try! I _needed_ you, I needed someone to help me understand, to know who I was and trust that I wasn't this evil freak all of Camelot would have thought I was. I needed someone to give me hope that I wasn't a monster and you were the only person I was able to turn to and you _took that away from me_. "

He hadn't noticed that he'd started crying, didn't realise until he felt Gwaine pull him in a little closer and wipe some of the tears from his cheek.

"And Gwaine, you thought you could take on Morgana... I lost the person I cared about most in the world, who I should have saved and then I go to Camelot and Percival.... he told me you were, you were gone too you were my best friend, you bastard, I needed you and... you _left_ _me behind!"_

Between his words, he was sobbing now, tears rolling down his cheeks and falling from his chin. All this time, all he'd wanted was to have them back, to have his friends returned to him. He'd tried to move past it, to find a new purpose in his life, but he'd never really been able to. The wounds of losing them had cut so deep, they'd never healed.

Even with both Lancelot and Gwaine holding him now, it hurt more than he could say. He was afraid, terrified that Arthur would be taken from him, that he'd lose them all, just like before. And this time, he didn't know how to save them.

**

"What happened, Merlin?" Arthur asked as soon as he walked into the room.

His friends had declared that Merlin was still recovering, and wasn't to leave his room. He'd wanted to argue it, to insist that he was perfectly fine, but in truth he felt so drained he wasn't sure he'd be able to walk out the door, so he let it be. Still, he'd tried to tell them he didn't need to be treated as a patient, but they hadn't listened. Lancelot and Gwaine had left before Arthur had come in, as if afraid of overwhelming him, which he found more ridiculous than he'd say to them. After all, they were only trying to be kind.

"Merlin," Arthur tried again, sitting at the foot of the bed, "Last night, you told me of what you'd done in Camelot. You saved my life, you saved many lives, and I'm grateful, always will be. But please, you have to stop caring so little about yourself. For a moment, I'd thought I'd lost you... You could have told me something, Merlin. There's no secrets between us anymore. I forbid it."

"You're all phrasing it like I'm badly hurt, Arthur," was Merlin's only reply.

"Aren't you?"

Briefly, Merlin was reminded of the care Arthur had shown him, of how gently he'd held him through his panic and promised his forgiveness. It warmed his heart, before that glow was stolen in an icy grip of fear. He couldn't let anything happen to him. Not again.

"I'm immortal." He almost spat the word. "I've been through worse. It was a harsh and sudden magic and I hadn't expected it to be as tough as it was to break it apart. I'm just sore. That's all."

"What happened with the sword?"

That seemed to throw Merlin off, and for a while he wasn't sure how to respond.

"No more lies, Merlin. As your king, I forbid them."

"What, gonna put an injured man in the stocks?"

" _Merlin_."

The smile fell from his lips.

"It was something Gwaine said. About magic dying. And it made me think of your magic, and the prophecy they told about you. I hoped I was wrong, but your magic was out of control, and the sword... it woke that part of you up, and fought against it and..."

"Merlin." Arthur held up a hand. "As much as I'm glad you are talking, my knowledge of magic is slim at best. What prophecy?"

"The Once and Future King shall unite the lands of Albion and return magic to the five Kingdoms," Merlin said softly, "Which is you. But I realised, you made alliances as King, you united the lands, but you didn't return magic. And at first I thought that was a mistake, or that we failed. But you're not just a king, you're the Once and Future King. And _now_ , magic is dying."

Arthur let out a slow breath, starting to gradually fit the pieces together as Merlin spoke.

"We didn't fail, there wasn't a mistake. But your destiny isn't over yet. Magic is dying, and if it dies, Albion probably will too. At least in part, I don't know yet..."

"And the sword?"

"The magic you have isn't _yours_ , Arthur. Not fully. It's not human magic, it doesn't fit to your soul like mine does, or other sorcerers' do. It's magic of the ancient kind, borrowed from the lake. That's why it was strong enough to do all the damage it did, even though your pronunciation was absolutely horrible..."

"Hey!"

"And the sword was meant for _you_. So when you picked it up, it sort of nudged at that part of your soul, and caused the two sides to war with each other."

Arthur nodded as he processed it all. Even with no kingdom, no family, he still had a kingdom to protect. But more than that, he had knights, he had Merlin, to protect it with, and though he didn't understand anything much at all, that gave him hope.

"Your soul is two parts because of it. You're human, ancient magic isn't meant for you, and if it stays... your soul might... tear further. That's why I hoped I was wrong but..."

Though Arthur might not understand magic, or souls, years of battles had taught him to read a man's tone well enough.

"I could die," he said simply.

Merlin only clenched his jaw.

"No. I won't allow it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is vaguely explanatory bullsh*t at best. I promise it'll make a little more sense soon... or at least... I hope....


	14. 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight CW here: Merlin's scars are described in this chapter. It's not graphic, but I've chosen not to use archive warnings for this fic because there may be things that could be upsetting to people.   
> There are also some scars described that imply self injury, but it's not touched upon in great detail and likely won't be, and they could be viewed as torture scars.

_"No. I won't allow it."_

Tears were springing to Merlin's eyes, and despite his stubbornness, he didn't bother to blink them away. His gaze was fixed on Arthur's, as if closing his eyes too long would make him disappear away again, back to the place that Merlin couldn't reach. For all his power, no sorcerer had power over life and death, not fully, not enough.

"Merlin..." Arthur spoke softly, but the words died in his throat as the boy before him - and he was a boy, he looked so young and fragile - started to cry.

There weren't enough words to make up for all they'd lost, Arthur had learnt that now. For all he could listen, for all he could promise forgiveness, it couldn't undo the damage that was carved so deeply. It was like trying to dye the ocean red with one man's blood - eventually, the tide would come again and waves would wash the colour away, and it would be as if it was never there at all.

His eyes fell to Merlin's cheek, where he had seen the scar when he'd first woken. Merlin had vanished it since then, though he'd seen it come back a few times, when he slept, or was only just awake. He couldn't help but wonder if that was the only one, but he doubted it. It wasn't as if he'd had much chance to look, not in the light anyway. Now, a tear traced where the scar had been, and he wiped it with this thumb before he had time to stop himself. It hurt too much to see Merlin's tears.

"I won't lose you again," he heard, whispered so quietly he wasn't sure if it was really meant for his ears, "I don't _care_ what it does to me. I wasn't allowed to save you but I can't... I can't do it again."

Arthur pulled him closer as his voice broke. He'd never been one for physical comfort - it was a luxury his upbringing had denied him, and not one he was used to - but Merlin needed it, and it was all he could give.

"What did they do to you?" he muttered quietly, unsure and uncaring if he was heard, but Merlin pulled away and wiped his eyes.

On his cheek, the scar Arthur recognised flushed against his skin, as if the mask that had hidden it had been wiped away. But the rest of his skin was pure and undamaged, showing less hurt than it ever had, even in Camelot.

"Do you... do you want to see? What happened, I mean. The... scars."

Arthur was a little stunned for a moment. A part of him really didn't, didn't know how he could possibly bear to see all the damage his friend had suffered laid out like a tapestry on his skin. But he needed to see, he needed to try and understand.

Merlin was willing to show him. That was a huge step forward. He couldn't turn that away, no matter how sick the idea made him.

So gradually, he nodded.

Merlin shuffled away a little, and pulled his shirt over his head. His back, chest, and arms were untouched, pure as fresh snow, but as Arthur watched, he saw marks start to flush against the surface of the skin. Behind his eyelids, Merlin's eyes were a soft gold, and his lips moving near imperceptibly as he whispered a few words that seemed to hum in the air around them and send shivers through Arthur's spine. Though he didn't hear the words, he could feel them strip away at magic around them, as though pulling stitching apart. It was a sensation he was starting to get used to.

At first, the marks were small, little more than anyone might have had in Camelot - white lines where a knife had slipped in his hands, burns on his wrists and fingers from candle flames and torches. Then a paled pink mark spread across his chest over his heart, and the skin seemed to tighten and twist where the burn had been, leaving raised patches and disfigurement where it had been clear before. He turned slightly, and Arthur could see the back of his neck baring a thicker white line than any others he'd had, where a blade had been deliberately dug into his neck. Worse than that, there was a red circle on his spine outlined in black, with black creeping out from the edges like twigs crawling out from a branch - a wound Arthur had seen once before, on a dead man.

White lines inched their way up Merlin's arms, evidence of deliberate wounds that had been cut and reopened too much to ever heal fully. Merlin seemed to flinch a little as those appeared, but his eyes remained closed all the same. His shoulder then twisted with the same disfigurement as his chest, where a fire had danced upon the skin, and angry stab wounds started to appear across his side, far more messy, done with far less purpose. In some areas, his skin looked like it had been separated entirely, and then loosely patched together like a stitched up doll, like he was less than human and his body less than real.

Where his neck had shown a smaller mark across the back, that was covered now by a far greater scar, running around his whole neck with a dead straight and precise cut that couldn't have come from any blade in hand. It was the largest yet, aside from the burn on his chest. It seemed to bear the most aggression too, as if it were angry that it was robbed of taking Merlin's life.

Yet more smaller scars littered his skin, over and over, filling the blanks in between the worst of the injuries until Arthur wasn't sure there was any space left. And then, just as he was sure it would have to stop soon, just as the suffering seemed to pause and hold its breath, his back began to turn red. Across his whole body, red patches started to pull at the flesh, interrupted only by streaks of a darker crimson. Skin was raised and forced into odd shapes and lines, bumps and rows twisting around his arms and running up his back, darkening him, leaving him patches of scarlet and brown. For the first time, he didn't look at all like the man Arthur had left.

Then he opened his eyes, the gold faded away, and he _did_.

Somehow, that hurt more, to see that this was _Merlin_ , who the world had beaten, broken, and destroyed so badly. It was Merlin who had been so torn apart and ruined, the same boy who'd saved Arthur's life, who'd stood at his side, who'd woken up each morning with the same irritating grin. Someone had done this to him, many people, over hundreds of years. They had hurt the gentlest soul he'd ever known. He wasn't sure if he wanted to wrap Merlin in cotton and never let anyone near him again, or hunt every bastard down who'd ever dared to raise a finger to him, but he couldn't do either. He was powerless to change the past.

Arthur let the tears fill his eyes, and brush past his eyelashes as they fell. This was too much for words and thoughts to cope with. He felt sick, and he felt angry - tears were far easier to focus on.

"I'm sorry," Merlin muttered quickly, and then breathed a command as his eyes glowed.

Within a moment, the marks across his skin vanished, leaving no trace but the memories carved into Arthur's mind.

"I should fetch my books..." he continued, avoiding Arthur's gaze, "I need to work out how to save you and-"

"Merlin..."

Finally, he looked him in the eyes again, the fear and shame and sorrow far too obvious in his expression.

"Rest," he asked softly, "I don't, I don't want to see you hurt."

It was too late for that, he knew, but if he could show some care that would make it just a little better, he would. He had to try.

When Merlin didn't reply, he shuffled a little closer to him, wrapping his small frame in his arms once again. This time, there was no hesitation before Merlin fiercely returned the hug, cocooning himself tightly against Arthur's chest as if he could shield him from the world.

As Arthur rested his head on Merlin's, he only wished that he could. But nothing could undo what had already been done. Even a king was powerless to time.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he heard muttered softly, and he resisted the urge to pull away and ask what the hell sort of right Merlin had to apologise for any of this.

"What for?"

"I didn't save them, Arthur. I didn't protect Camelot. I didn't save the druids. I didn't.... they were so young they shouldn't have died... they didn't need to die..."

Softly, Arthur muttered reassurances, holding him closely as he wished he'd done so many times before.

As his fingers traced where lines on his back had been, he realised he still had no idea of the memories that came with all the injuries he'd seen. Years of pain, centuries of watching death take the world around him, had left Merlin with as many wounds inside as out.

There was no physician in any kingdom that could heal those.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be more on how he got these.... in varying levels of detail, at later points in the story.
> 
> I'm also having trouble ordering some scenes that I have. So if you're reading this as the last chapter, would you prefer to continue straight onto more angst and plot heavy things now, or to have a slight "break" and a chapter I'm writing where Merlin takes them into town?


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